


More Than Touch

by F0ssiliZ3d



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Eventual Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, He's not as mean as you think, M/M, Mutual Pining, Relationship Negotiation, Sharing a Body, Slow Burn, Sympathetic Mr. Robot, The Series From Mr. Robot's POV, he's trying okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F0ssiliZ3d/pseuds/F0ssiliZ3d
Summary: Mr. Robot was created for one purpose, and one purpose only. Falling in love was not part of the plan.In which Tyrell is smitten, Mr. Robot is in denial, and Elliot has no idea why his alter-ego keeps blushing.





	1. c0rpor4te-5cum

When Elliot falls asleep during his lunch break, I take us to the store and buy cigarettes. With a lit cigarette in my mouth, warming my face, and my phone in my pocket, warming my hands, the winter's bite barely touches me. New York's buildings loom around me, like chess pieces waiting to be toppled. I'm so close now. Stage 1 is nearly ready.

The dull thud of a fist against flesh pulls me from my thoughts. I pause and glance round.

Again –  _twack._

It's coming from under the bridge.

Someone groans.

It sounds like a fight. I turn to avoid it, but I stop once I catch sight of the black SUV. It's just visible from where I'm stood, sleek and shiny, and I have to catch my appreciative whistle before it slips through my teeth.

Under the bridge -  _twack!_

The abandoned SUV, the punching... Some rich prick is being mugged. What else could it be?

Tossing my cigarette on the ground, I go around the corner. Just a little look won't hurt.

I see the man on the ground first. His heavy breathing draws my eye. He's haggard, with a thick coat, and skin plastered in dirt and spots from weeks of not bathing. He's clearly homeless.

The man beating him up clearly isn't.

He's handsome sucker, that's for sure, with brown hair and toned muscles – but that's where the appeal ends. It's pretty hard to find someone foxy when they've just bludgeoned a homeless person.

"Please, stop!" cries the homeless man, as the rich man lands another punch.

It was the perfect image of everything I was fighting against. This is why stage 1 needs to happen, to stop the rich beating down the poor.

But for now, I can't do anything. Sure, two against one is a better fight, but Elliot is skinny. Practically a noodle. He doesn't go to the gym and he doesn't eat right. This rich man, this suit, he's  _built._ Like a frigging brick house. Besides, I can't risk Elliot walking back to work with unfamiliar bruises - or landing in hospital. He doesn't know I'm back yet, and an incident like that would definitely raise suspicion. So yeah: There's nothing I can do.

I back away.

Someone grabs my arm.

"Hey!" I snap. Another suit. God damn, slippery bastard! Must have been behind me, watching. He looks older than the other one, though not by much. His brow is set in a scowl. I try to push him off but he's too strong, "Get off me!"

Fuck. I just had to look, didn't I. I just  _had_  to see a little justice. A little redistribution of wealth – a rich man being mugged, or at the very least, beaten. Of course, it was too good to be true. Instead, I find the exact opposite. What did I expect? The big men always take from the little men.

The punching has stopped.

I glance over.

The homeless man spits blood. Our eyes meet in a thrilling moment of camaraderie, and then a pile of notes flutters down in front of his face. He snatches them up and runs.

Well, fuck you too then. Not that I blame him. Can't say that I wouldn't get out of the line of fire myself the minute I had the chance. It's my job, after all. Protecting Elliot.

The man wearing latex gloves slips his wallet back into his blazer. He drapes the blazer onto the hood of his SUV and, finally, looks at me. I feel like I know him from somewhere, but can't think of a name. I'm pretty shitty with names, to tell you the truth. I try not to give him the stink-eye, but, damn, part of me really wants him to punch me, just so I could punch back. But that part of me isn't big enough to provoke a potential murder. Murder. Dramatic, I know, but this  _is_  New York. Would also explain the gloves.

The Suit stalks towards me. He doesn't take off those latex gloves.

Okay. Time to be good. Injuries aside, Elliot has ten minutes of his lunch break left. The last thing I need is Angela or Gideon asking where we've been and Elliot not being able to remember.

I raise my hands. "Listen, man, I don't want to fight you."

"Relax." is the response, "This is all just a little misunderstanding. Right?"

That's supposed to be my line, surely? I glance sideways at the man who has hold of me. "Yeah." I say, drily, "Sure looks like it."

Suit laughs.

I meet his eyes and refuse to look away. "Look, if you're planning to beat me up - I wouldn't. Sure, you'd  _win_ and I like a little rough-and-tumble as much as the next guy. But I have about six minutes of my lunch break left, and people are gonna wonder where I am."

I glance at Scowls. He doesn't react, though he doesn't look like he wants to be here any more than I do. Which of these cockbags am I supposed to be endearing myself to anyway? Both?

Suit narrows his eyes and nods to the man who has hold of me.

I'm released.

So, the young'un is in charge. He only looks a few years older than Elliot, in his early 30s at most. Young and rich - an over-achiever? Or just some guy picking his parents pocket? Either way, that's no weakness. I need  _something_  to get me out of this mess.

But before I say anything else, the Suit speaks again.

"I feel as though I've seen you before." his eyes narrow, "Where is it you work?

He's trying to read me. A job marks a person with value. More value, more security in situations like this. Everyone will notice a CEO disappear, but a retail assistant? A mail man? Yeah. Exactly. Point being, Elliot may be liked at AllSafe, but if I tell this guy that we're just a regular cyber security engineer, one of hundreds, I lose my leverage. He'd be completely in control. If there's one thing I hate, it's not being in control.

"None of your business. Now, if you don't mind…" I move away, but Scowls blocks my path.

"Don't be rude." Suit chides gently. I hear the snap as the latex gloves are ripped off, followed by the slide of fabric over skin. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement if we just talk this over."

"Or, I could leave." I turn back around and freeze when I see that he's got his wallet out.

"Let's say, 300 and you don't gossip about this to your colleagues or family?"

I glare, "I don't want your blood money."

I can tell by his expression that he took that personally. Good. The bastard offered me  _money._

His eyes shift nervously. He doesn't want anyone to know about this. He cares what people think of him.  _That's_  his weakness.

"I'll be nice." I shrug, "I won't say a thing, no payment required."

"How do I guarantee that?"

I grin drily. "Show a little faith in your fellow man."

That seems to confuse him. "There must be something you can get out of this." he says, "Some form of blackmail."

"Trust me, man, I would blackmail people like you until the end of eternity if I thought I could get something out of it." I shake my head, "I get nothing from this. So don't you worry your pretty head about it."

He looks me up and down. He checks his watch.

I arch my brow. "Late for something?"

He fixes me with an unamused stare. "Your six minutes are up."

"Time sure flies when you're having fun."

Okay. I'm being a jerk now. I should reign it in before he decides to beat me.

He shifts nervously and, after a pause, pushes back his shoulders. "I'll take that leap of faith. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will find you, your family, and all your friends, and I will make sure you regret it."

I just grin – and that throws him off. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

I move away and this time nobody stops me.

* * *

" _Oh, hi! I'm Tyrell Wellick, Senior Vice president of Technology." "Elliot. Just a tech."_

* * *

The image of corporate elites beating up homeless men swirls in my head. That night, we launch the hack against E-Corp, and it feels like the justice I didn't get earlier that day. But there was no way to do it without Elliot getting involved, which is how, when I next head to the arcade, it's Elliot and not me.

It's a funny thing, when we're both conscious. Maybe one day I'll tell you all about it, but for now let's keep it simple: He's the main program running, and I'm just a tab in the background, and sometimes we switch, and sometimes there's just one of us.

"Who are you?" he asks, and it nearly kills me.

He's forgotten again. Me, the project…

I tell him the plan anyway.

"What if you could take down one conglomerate? A conglomerate so deeply entrenched in the world's economy that 'too big to fail' doesn't even come close to describing it?"

He listens, only interjecting to ask a few questions. It's refreshing. It's been a while since he listened to me.

"Tomorrow, AllSafe is gonna get a visit from the FBI and the US Cyber Command. You are gonna modify the .dat file, and put Colby's terminal IP address in there."

"Terry Colby?" he says with disbelief, "You're gonna frame him? No one's gonna believe that. I met him. He's a moron."

"So are the FBI. Even if they don't believe he did it, they'll believe he gave someone access to it."

"And he'll just go to jail. What good will that do?"

"You don't take down a conglomerate by shooting them in the heart. That's the thing about conglomerates, they don't have hearts. You take 'em down limb by limb. And as they unravel, their illusion of control unravels."

The idea is planted, and I slip away somewhere on his train ride home. Slipping away isn't something I enjoy. I black out and become stuck in some disorientating slumber - like Sleeping Beauty, only there's no magical kiss that can wake me up. There's a deep dark void and when I come back, everything is different. A different place. A different time. Missing information. Delayed memories. Sometimes hours pass, sometimes days, sometimes months and years. But let's not get into that. It's a bit of a downer.

I'm awoken later, at night, by Elliot crying.

Elliot cries a lot. I can't escape his episodes, like electric pulses, pressing into me. He cries for hours, until the exhaustion pushes me to the front and he's gone completely.

I'm curled into the corner of the room, by the bed. My fists hurt from clenching our pillow so hard. On my ankle, feel something cold and wet. I glance down. A little black dog is nuzzling my leg.

"What the actual hell."

The dog looks up at me. Since when did Elliot have a dog? It whines softly. I check its collar.

FLIPPER

There's an address that is in no way ours, a phone number, again not ours, but if that didn't give away that Elliot stole the mut, there's the name of the owner: Lenny Shannon. Given Elliot's history, I know exactly what's happened. Lenny Shannon must have been a real prick if Elliot thought to steal the dog off him. I chuckle, shaking my head fondly. That kid, man, what will I do with him?

"I don't think we've met." I show Flipper my hand, "I'm the other guy. Currently nameless."

After a thoughtful sniff, Flipper licks my hand and whines softly.

"Good girl. You adjusting well? The move wasn't too stressful?" I breathe a laugh, "The mess can be annoying but, hey, that's what it's like having a roommate. Still beats your old owner, am I right?"

I sit petting her until the stickiness on my face starts to annoy me. I get up, dump the pillow back on the bed, drop a couple of pieces of feed into Qwerty's tank, and go into the bathroom. I turn on the shower. As the water runs down my back, I think about corporate elites beating homeless men, repeating the image in my head, until I'm scrubbing our skin raw. I turn on the icy water and it hurts, but it cools down my skin. I towel off, and put us to bed. Flipper curls up on the pillow next to me. As I lie my head down, I feel the weight of Elliot's misery pressing into my gut. The feeling is too familiar. How many more nights of this? I can't stand his sadness.

I'll fix this. We'll be at peace when our project is done.


	2. C0lby_fr4med

Elliot did it! I walk us home, buzzing. With Colby framed for the hack, the revolution can be set in motion. We just need to wait for his arrest before we can plan our next move. Things. Are. _Perfect._

Well they would be, if not for the black SUV tailing us.

It's been following us since we left AllSafe. I cut in sometime after Elliot parted ways with Angela, and I noticed the car not long after that. I doubled-back on my route and went down three alleyways just to be sure, did everything I could to lose it, but the SUV always caught up. Oh yeah, it's definitely tailing us.

The SUV draws close and starts to slow. I eye it, slowing but not stopping. Eventually, it cuts onto the curb in front of me and I have to stop. I toss my hands into the air, "Watch it, prick!"

The back-window slides open. It's the guy who beat up the homeless man. He smiles, like he didn't just narrowly miss crushing my foot.

"Bonsior, Elliot." he says.

_Bonsior, Elliot?_

Oh fuck.

Elliot met this guy not long after I did - the memory transmits between us, like a shared file. His name is Tyrell Wellick and he's not just any corporate scum, he's the Senior Vice president of Technology at E-Corp. I thought he looked familiar. Our eyes - Elliot's eyes - had seen him mooching around AllSafe a dozen times.

"You must be cold in that hoodie." Wellick says, "Let me give you a lift home."

I look at where the car is angled in front of me. "Well, I see you're determined."

Wellick just smiles wider.

"Look, man. I appreciate the sentiment, but let's not pretend we both don't know what this is really about." I raise my hands, "I kept my end of the bargain. You don't really want me to make a scene, do you?"

"Relax." he says, "That's, as the expression goes, water under the bridge."

I force a smile that's in no way genuine and bob my head. "Thanks for clearing that up."

I walk.

The car follows.

I stop. "I take it this is non-negotiable."

"Don't be so dramatic, Elliot." He laughs and pushes the car door open, "Come in."

Let's be honest, this could be about a number of things: the E-Corp hack, Elliot's piss-poor work-morale, the whole under-the-bridge deal, you name it. There's only one way to find out.

 _Fuck it._  I huff and get in.

Wellick slides to the opposite side of the car to make room for me. As I shut the door, I spot Scowls in the driver's seat. He's watching me through the rear-view mirror. The car is warm and inviting – that stare? Not so much. Though any warmth given by the car is rendered null and void by this whole semi-consensual kidnapping thing we have going on.

"Where to?" prompts Scowls.

I give him my address, hoping I won't regret it later.

The car moves.

"You know," Wellick begins, "when we met, I knew I'd seen you before. Then, a few days later, there you were at AllSafe. Fate is funny that way, don't you think?"

"Hilarious."

He smirks. "I hope my approaching you didn't catch you too off-guard."

That part of my mind is blank, though I can picture how Elliot reacted – an internal 'who the hell is this guy and why is he talking to me?' But Wellick couldn't have brought up how we met, or he'd risk his own reputation. No one needs to know that AllSafe's best client hires people who beat up the homeless. Too bad I wasn't there, I would have had a lot of fun announcing  _that_  to everyone.

"Oh I'm just surprised you dared." I say. That should explain away any awkwardness on Elliot's part. "Weren't you worried I'd announce your, uh,  _extracurricular_  activities?"

He meets my stare head-on and, without any hint of insincerity, says, "I had faith in you."

I gawp.

"It paid off." Wellick tilts his head elegantly. "Maybe I should invest more faith in you, Elliot. You're clearly intelligent, and you seem ambitious. Tell me, where do you see yourself in the future?"

Wellick needs to back off.

"You have the wrong idea, my friend." I scoff, "I'm just an ordinary workplace lackey, nothing more. As flattering as your faith is, it's a complete misfire to put that shit on me. Want something to believe in? Go join a church group."

"Modesty." Wellick hums, nodding to himself. "You single-handedly stopped the hack on E-Corp. There's nothing ordinary about that."

"Just doing my job."

"...and a sense of duty." Wellick nods again. He sounds like he's ticking things off a list. "But you didn't answer my question."

I stare at him. "What, is this an interview or something?"

His lip curls.

That answers that. I lift up my chin. "And what  _are_ you interviewing me for exactly?"

"For a job at E-Corp, of course."

 _Elliot at E-Corp? Fuck right off._  I huff and turn back to the window. "Last time I checked, you're not the CEO of E-Corp and I  _sincerely_ doubt Philip Price sent you. Anyway, don't you have that non-compete thing with AllSafe?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Those limitations are easily overcome."

I scoff.

"I understand your scepticism." he says, "But once I organise my lawyers, you'll hear my full proposal and you'll see you have no reason to doubt me."

I shake my head and watch the street move by. We're still a good way from the apartment and I'm pretty sure we've circled the same street twice. This is organised. He wants something out of this conversation.

"I hope you don't mind," Wellick says in a tone that indicates that he's changing the topic, "but I did a little digging on you."

"Is this the part where you tell me things I already know?" I say with a dry chuckle, "Monologue for a bit, Shakespeare-style? If so, spare me the details and cut to the point."

"Shakespeare?" Wellick gives a breathy laugh. He looks at me, "Not all the water in the rough rude sea can wash the balm off from an anointed king."

"Figures you'd quote Richard II."

He looks pleased. "I'm surprised you know it."

"I'm surprised you managed to squeeze in a little reading time on your schedule, what with being busy stalking techs." I look at him wryly, "Or did you get that quote off a fortune cookie?"

A line appears between his eyes.

Ha. Gotcha.

"I read him while I was learning English." Wellick says, "It was useful for me to...expand my vocabulary. Push myself past my limits."

"One hell of a push."

Impressed? Who's impressed?

"Go on, then." I say, "What's the accent?"

"Swedish."

"A Swede, huh. Why'd you come here? Hated the taxes or something?"

He scowls.

I'd struck another nerve.

"Swedish taxes may be higher than here, but we get what we pay for. You Americans see the number and don't think about the context."

And  _that_ struck my nerve. "That's easy for you to say. What's your end of year salary? $180,000 I believe, on average." I sneer, "Where's the context for  _that_?"

"It's not about the money."

Liar. It's always about money.

"Anyway," he adjusts himself: I can see his face hardening, letting go of my comment on his home country. "I noticed you don't have much of much of a social media presence. No Facebook, no LinkedIn - not even photographs of you on your colleagues' Facebook. It's like everything has been wiped clean. That's very abnormal these days."

"Your point?"

"It proves that you're not ordinary." He leans towards me, "So why do you insist otherwise?"

"Modesty."

He chuckles.

Elliot was right – Wellick isn't a moron. I can't just steer him away with words or indifference or cleverly woven lies. He's clever, he's keen, and he's relentless. But so am I. If we go on like this, we'll talk in circles for hours. Like either of us have time for that shit.

"Alright, enough with the foreplay." I snap, "What  _exactly_ do you want from me?"

Wellick frowns. "I told you."

"Yeah, yeah. Interview, job, blah, blah, blah!  _Horseshit._  Like you actually want me." I pause, "And anyway, it's not like E-Corp doesn't have a thousand techs just like me waiting in line to work, willing to suck yours and whoever else's dick they need to in order to get there."

Wellick flushes and abruptly turns away.

I stare.

...Really?  _One_ mention of office-funsies has him beat?

Heh.  _Unless..._ I start to grin, "Did I hit a little too close to home?"

He shifts, but says nothing.

Sensitive fella. How far can I push him?

I slide closer to him and watch his eyebrows rise as the seat between us disappears, "I bet you do it all the time." I say, "How many little techs spend a day sitting under your desk, only to be promoted and replaced? Must be fun. Do you lock your office, or let your assistant get a peek?"

Our knees accidentally knock together and his eyes flit to where they touch, and then to my face.

I raise my chin in a challenge.

He watches me for a long time.

"I wouldn't know." he says finally. It's slow. Measured. "I'm married and I would never cheat on her. Even for  _charity._ "

Charity. That's funny. If that's a dig at me, I earned it.

"Fair enough." I raise my hands and slide back into my original seat.

He keeps staring at me. Something in his expression puts me on edge. "I understand." He says eventually, "Don't worry, Elliot. You're highly skilled. No matter what happens to AllSafe, you'll be alright. In fact, I guarantee it."

I squint.

In front seat, Scowls clears his throat, "Your stop, sir."

I hadn't noticed the car had stopped, but I grin at the driver anyway, and say, "Thanks a bunch, jeeves!"

"Have a nice evening, sir." he deadpans.

I open the door. I get about a step toward the apartment before Wellick calls after me.

"Elliot!"

Wellick has opened the window again and is sat in the seat I was, closest to the sidewalk.

"You could be so much more than you are. You only need to take the opportunity." he says, "When the time comes, I want you to consider my offer very carefully."

* * *

" _I want you to be where you belong, here with me."_

* * *

Nineteen days later, Terry Colby is arrested. On my way to the arcade for the fsociety reunion, I stop to buy two beer six-packs and a bottle of sparkling water. I stroll inside, whistling.

"I brought twinkies!" Mobley announces as I come in.

"Ah, Mobley, you're a saint."

He grins, "Thanks, boss."

Romero steps up to me with a stern look, but teasing eyes, "You in a good enough mood for me to shake your hand, tight-ass?"

"Romero, your insults wound my soul."

He rolls his eyes. "If you don't wanna, just say so."

"Never mind all that, I brought beer!" I lift my shopping bag and point to it.

Trenton lingers in the corner, "I'll celebrate when we're finished."

"You're all work and no play, Trenton." I reach into my shopping bag. "Heads up!" I toss her a bottle of sparkling water, which she catches despite looking completely stunned. Darlene fishes out the beer and deals it out, using the air hockey table as a drinks table. Darlene, Mobley, Trenton, and Romero clink their drinks together, a social grace I dodge by heading over to the popcorn machine.

As I open the glass case and reach inside, something flickers in my head and I know it's Elliot stirring. I push him back.

Thing is, I'm not fully in control of our condition, but I've made it so I can be. As my focal point, the arcade brings me into consciousness. The popcorn machine is my security program. Elliot's dad used to love popcorn, that clown. Now, it's one of our triggers. Funny, right? But I don't decide the triggers, I just figure them out and exploit them. The popcorn machine is an on/off switch; it weakens that barrier that separates the  _me_ from Elliot. If I ever need to drop out or back in, all I need is that popcorn machine.

There are other ways - by sleeping or concentrating - to gain or lose control. But Elliot can do those too. I need something more, otherwise I'd never be in control. And if you ask me, that ain't fair.

Then there's emotion. If Elliot gets too angry, or scared, or stressed, he's out and I'm in, and it's the same on my end too. I haven't figured out how to fix that, except by keeping my cool - laugh, joke, and be indifferent.

Still, things should be okay so long as Elliot doesn't work out his triggers. Or worse, exploit a trigger that I don't know about. I can't see that happening though. I have this trigger-shit pretty much figured out.

Holding popcorn between my teeth, I throw Romero a grin when he glances my way.

"She's right, man." He rolls his eyes, "We need to make a move before the media dies down."

Trenton speaks up abruptly, "What if we release a video asking them to release Colby?"

"Huh?" Romero says.

I crush the popcorn in my mouth with a comically loud noise.

"It would…put more focus on him, make it really seem like he was the one behind all of this, and keep us safe. People will be too focused on Colby as the leader to investigate the followers. Us."

I snap my fingers and point at her, "I like it."

She smiles shyly.

Yeah, that innocent act. I love it.

"We can record something real quick, boss," Mobley says, "Upload it to the vimeo account."

"Well, that's great and all," Romero said, sceptically, "But do we actually have a plan for the backups? Its all well and good deleting everything, but if we don't find a way to get rid of the backups too, this was all pointless."

"Oh, I have a plan." I say.

Romero folds his arms, "Want to share?"

I wink.

He sighs, "God dammit, man."

"What? I'm building suspense!"

"You're being a dickhead." Darlene drones, throwing a mask at me, "Put that on."

"You love it really!" I say, pulling the elastic over my head.

I did have a plan. They hold all the backups in a single building called Steel Mountain. I'm gonna blow it up. Ka-Boom. Explosion. Obviously, I've considered the people. I plan to set off a few alarms before it happens. If they're quick, they won't die. I mean, some might but... this is the most efficient plan, anything else might ensure E-Corp's survival.

I have to tell Elliot still. He should be the first to know.

I record the video and hand it off to the others to edit and schedule and sort the shebang with the vimeo account. I sip my beer and perch myself behind the counter, in my little make-shift office. I open up my latest read,  _Zeroes_ by Chuck Wendig, content to let the sound of the popcorn, the games, and the friendly chatter fade from my focus.

I don't get far into my book when I notice Trenton has come up to the counter.

I look at her. "What's up?"

Trenton is the youngest of our team, and we're all pretty damn protective of her. One time Mobley offended her beliefs, I can't give you the details exactly because none of us really understood why or what happened, only that Trenton was hurting. We made Mobley perform wipe-down alone on his own every night for a whole month. Heh, I mean, he was only being insensitive - can't count how many times I've been like that - but it was only because it was  _Trenton._

She fiddles with the part of her hijab that hangs loose over her chest. "I, uh..."

"Is it the video? Did something go wrong?"

She startles at the alarm in my voice. "No, no! The video is fine and scheduled."

"So," I try for gentle, "What's up then?"

She pushes her lips together.

"Trenton," I say, "If you don't tell me, I can't help."

"Will you help me with my book report?"

I blink.

She screws her eyes shut.

"Come again?" I say.

"My college is throwing a Literature Appreciation Week next week and, as course rep, I've been one of many  _lucky_ people selected to write a book report. Thing is, I don't really read. Or write. Words aren't my thing, no surprise, but you seem to read a lot and I just thought..."

I raise my hand and she stops talking immediately. "Say no more." I smile, "I can write one up now."

"Oh, you don't have to..."

"Trenton, after that brilliant Colby idea, I owe you one. Think of it as erasing a debt."

She nods. "Right. ...Thank you." She turns to leave and then seems to change her mind, "I trust you, you know."

"It's  _just_  a book report..."

"I don't mean that. I mean, with all of this." she glances over at something and when I look, I see it's Romero, but Trenton goes on and I figure it was a random glance away. "I mean, you're scary sometimes, and you talk to yourself, not to mention you're cranky..."

"Hey!"

"...but I can tell you actually care, even if you don't want to admit it." She shrugs, "So, anyway, thanks."

She leaves, and I shrug the whole thing off.

We all arrange to meet here again tonight, so we can monitor the release of the video and make sure it goes to plan. Then Elliot takes over, and I never get there.

See, Trenton is wrong. It's not that I don't want to admit I care, or whatever, it's that I  _don't care._ I'm not a complicated guy, all things considered. It's really that simple. I mean, if you spent as much time as I do in a state of non-existence, would you let yourself care?


	3. 5teel-M0ut4in

Elliot nearly backs out when I tell him my plan to blow up Steel Mountain, but he comes back later, claiming he has a better plan. Let me tell ya though, 'better' seems to be a pretty fucking relative term. A withdrawing junkie hacking the climate control system of a data storage building, so we can melt backup discs? Talk about a recipe for  _disaster!_

But this is Elliot's plan and I respect that.

" _Mr Robot,"_ Elliot monologues to his imaginary friend, _"his flaw is that he's absolutely insane. We're talking clinical._ _When they say 'If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you?' He would, without hesitation, just to prove something. He goes in there, he's liable to blow the whole place up, just like he wanted to in the first place."_

That would have been easier. But this is us – jumping off that bridge, Elliot first. Of course, I'd jump after him.

But with Elliot suffering morphine withdrawals and the flimsy plan to begin with, it was a miracle we got in the damn building. For a minute there, I actually believed we'd get through this. We were so damn close, too. But  _he_  just had to appear.

"Elliot."

Tyrell Fucking Wellick.

"I thought I saw you. What are you doing here?"

Elliot hesitates.

"Tell him AllSafe sent you for a routine check." I blurt, "Remember, you're work colleagues. Crack a smile, tell a joke."

I don't know how this whole ordeal filters through on Elliot's end, but he's not thinking straight: his brain will find some way to justify it. Mobley and Romero are talking to him through an earpiece from the van, maybe that's what he thinks I'm doing. Still, he in the driver's seat. I'm in the passenger seat. There's not much I can do but guide him.

"I'm…" Elliot swallows, "I was sent here for work."

"Okaaay..." I clear my throat. "Close enough."

Wellick narrows his eyes, but luckily two other Suits interrupt us.

"Oh gentlemen!" Wellick exclaims when he spots them, and they talk for a few minutes. Every now and again, Wellick glances at us. Elliot awkwardly stands, waiting. There's no chance we can slip away. Knowing Wellick, he'd just follow us. Guy has a habit of stalking after all.

Shit. What if he brings up the car ride? Suppose I could make something up to cover for it - blame it on Elliot's memory loss, but imagine what that would do for his paranoia.

Wellick comes back to us and we start walking. "Those men I just shook hands with, financiers of Hezbollah and ISIS."

Elliot whirls round.

"I wouldn't stare." Wellick says, "As you were saying?"

Elliot strings together a decent excuse that keeps Wellick from questioning us too much. _That's my boy._

Wellick rubs his lips together, "It seems we both had the idea to work off-site today." He stops us, "Let's call this fortuitous. Join me for lunch?"

"S-sure." Elliot stammers, "I eat lunch."

Wellick laughs, "So you  _are_ like the rest of us!"

Bastard thinks he's funny. Naturally, Elliot doesn't get it.

Wellick looks at him expectantly, but when Elliot says nothing, he nods, "Come."

We keep walking until we get to the cafeteria.

In our ear, Romero panics, "He got owned, man. We've gotta go!"

"We're not going anywhere." I tell Elliot, "This changes nothing. He has a vulnerability: He's an arrogant prick, and he's proud of it. He  _cares_  what you think about him, even though he probably hates that he does. Tyrell Wellick's greatest asset is his hubris, but it's also his flaw. And that's your exploit."

Please, for the love of everything, Elliot, do  _not_  question how I know that.

Elliot turns to Wellick and cuts him off, "You eat here?"

 _Oh, Elliot, I fucking love you._ That simple question works a charm. Wellick takes us to the executive lounge on level two. Not far from there, according to the maps we studied before we arrived, the toilets have an entry way to where we need to install the Raspberry Pi. Problem is, the signal from the van isn't powerful enough to reach level two.

When Mobley and Romero's voices flicker and fade out, I keep silent. I don't know how Elliot visualises this, but on the off chance that he's picturing me in the car with them, talking through the ear piece, I can't speak from this moment on or he'd wonder how.

But I'm still awake. I'm listening.

Wellick and Elliot sit down at a table, and Wellick orders. When the waiter leaves, Wellick leans over to us and whispers, "I've seen our waiter here for the last seven years. He must be in his fifties. Maybe has kids, divorced, second wife, more kids. And I wonder, what must he think of himself? His life's potential reached at a 30-grand a year salary, an economy car he still owes money on, a two-bedroom apartment, child support, coupons." He wrinkles his nose, "I couldn't bear it. A life like that. The life of an ordinary cockroach whose biggest value is to serve me  _salad_."

Value, huh? Is that what drives him? When he said it wasn't the money that mattered, is this what he meant?

The waiter comes back to give us food and Wellick smiles at him, like a devil in an angel's get-up. If I was in control, I'd roll my eyes.

Eventually, Elliot weasels out of there with the classic 'bathroom' excuse. It's about as smooth as a train wreck but it does the job. The bathroom in question has a back entrance to a room with the port for the Raspberry Pi, right where Mobley said it would be. Elliot slips in, tangles the wires together, and…

The door clicks.

Elliot jumps back into bathroom.

The door opens. Wellick walks in.

Oh for fuck's  _sake._

"I had to wash my face." Elliot says, swallowing, "...Hard to breathe... here."

Wellick uses the urinal. I try not to stare.

"I know you framed Terry Colby."

The  _fuck?_

"I…I didn't…" Elliot stammers, but Wellick keeps going.

"Your father worked at E-Corp before he died. That's a matter of public record." He flushes the urinal, and moves past us to the sink. He stares at us through the mirror, "I'm not turning you in, if that's what you're thinking. I don't even have proof, and even if I did, I don't care. I just wanted to know your weakness and now I do."

I'm glad Mobley and Romero can't hear this.

"Revenge." He says, "How ordinary. It's like our waiter."

Well  _excuse me_ , princess. Also, go fuck yourself! If he knew a single  _digit_  of my plan, he wouldn't say that. He thinks the waiter is a cockroach? He needs to take a good long look at himself in the mirror. There's nothing more worthless than pursuing wealth. Money isn't even real. That's like collecting air.

"But even extraordinary people, and I believe you are, are driven by human banalities. And, unfortunately, we're all human." He grins, "Except me of course."

That's what this has been about this whole time. I know about him beating the homeless, and he's been trying to get my secrets ever since. Our game has reached a turning point. He's put us in check – at least, he thinks he has. I can't let this leave with that, with him thinking he's one move away from checkmate. Not now he's compared me to that fucking waiter, that  _fucking slave!_

Wellick finishes wiping his hands and steps towards us.

"I'm joking, Elliot." He says, "Enjoy your long drive back home. I'm having a helicopter take me back to New York." He claps his hands on our shoulders, and Elliot gasps. He smiles down at us, "You take care, Elliot."

Elliot finishes installing the Raspberry Pi, and we're back on track. Wellick can wait. The project comes first.

* * *

" _They were out before you even got to Steel Mountain._ "

* * *

Everything goes to shit the minute we go inside the arcade and Darlene says, "The Dark Army is bailing."

It doesn't register at first, and when it does I don't withhold my rampage. I twist round and ram my foot against the bin. The sound makes Trenton jump and Darlene flinch, but I'm too pissed off to care. I smack a tray off the counter. It clatters and skids across the floor.

Darlene sniffs, "Let's not wait then!" she says, hardening her voice, "Let's do it anyway. Just us. Let's do it, right now." She rushes toward the computer and starts typing. "Okay? We execute now. We execute on our side and trust that the Dark Army get their shit together and follows…"

I run and grab her, trying to get her to calm down, but she's not listening to me. Typical daughter - sister. Whatever. "If we move forward and they don't, China still holds all the redundant information. It will be  _pointless_."

But she's got conviction. That leaves us arguing, too people as stubborn as each other.

"It would still hurt them." she says.

 _Seriously?!_ "We don't want to  _hurt_ them!" I grab the nearest breakable thing and smash it on the ground, "we want to KILL THEM!"

It goes like that for a while before I realise that she needs Elliot. Tired and irritated, I step up to the popcorn machine. The walls weaken, and I flip the switch, slipping into the background. Elliot's program pops into the front. As he slowly steps towards her, I can't help but wonder how this looks to everyone else.

"It's not over." Elliot says, "We'll rework it. We'll figure something out. We got this far, we'll find a way, just not tonight."

That's the thing about Elliot. He was built for comfort, to nurture and to create. I was built to destroy.

* * *

_"I knew a girl that died - with the added bonus of: She died because of me."_

* * *

Elliot's squeeze, Shayla, died yesterday. Now, here I am, pushed awake because Elliot can't stand being online anymore. My eyesight is fuzzy. I blink. My eyelashes are wet. I blink again, and the last of the tears drip out. My fists are clenching the pillow again. The main difference this time is that Elliot curled himself up in front of the couch, and the pain feels...heavier, somehow, like being trapped underneath a pile of bricks.

Flipper sits opposite me. She cocks her head.

"Hey, pooch, it's been a while." I wipe my face on my sleeve. I'm sticky, snotty, and sweaty. I taste salt in my mouth, "Ugh, I must look like shit."

Flipper whines.

"Oh well." I sniff, "Business as usual."

I shower, pat myself dry, and step out of the bathroom again to find Flipper sat in the doorway with a lead in her mouth.

"Listen, pooch," I say, too grouchy for this, "I ain't Elliot. If he wants to get a pet, that's on him, but I ain't gonna take care of you."

Flipper stares at me.

"Yeah, goo-goo eyes don't work on me, honey. Find someone else to seduce!"

Flipper whines softly and pokes her nose into my ankle.

Damn it.

"Okay fine!" I shove on some clean clothes, ones that aren't covered in snot. I take the lead from her mouth and hook it on her collar. While I'm crouched, I say, "But I ain't for this bonding-shit, you understand? This is a friends-with-benefits situation so don't you go getting attached."

Flipper licks my face.

I sigh, relenting, "It's a good thing you're cute."

I feed Qwerty before I leave.

Outside, it's that kind of hot that is nice when it's arm-in-arm with an ice-cold breeze, but there's no breeze today and the heat presses and sticks to me, like Elliot's pain, and I scowl all the way through the walk.

Damn. I really need to talk my mind off things.

I shove my hands in my pockets and stroll down a route I hadn't gone on for a while. I'm heading to the library. At least it will have air-con.

It's not far, but by the time we get there, Flipper is panting like an asthmatic. It's a little disconcerting, and I don't dare leave her outside. I push open the library doors and walk Flipper in with me, and  _\- damn -_  thank fuck for air-con!

This library is another one of my focal points. Just like the arcade, it helps bring me back to consciousness when Elliot is in charge. That doesn't happen here too often, because Elliot rarely passes this place. But it is what it is.

"Oh, hello." says the librarian as I step up to the desk. Lucy. She's a sweet chick, "It's been a while."

"I'm cashing in that favor you owe me."

She looks at me over the top of her glasses. "Did you forget to return your book again?"

I pause. I distinctly remember leaving that copy of  _Zeroes_ in the arcade after finishing Trenton's book report. I shrug. "I may have left the last one at work, but that's not it." I bend down and pick up Flipper.

"Oh, cute!" she squeals, "Is he yours?"

"She." I correct, "And it's blazing outside, so can you keep her under your desk while I look around?"

"No problem." she eagerly takes Flipper, "Hey, baby!"

I roll my eyes and head towards the books.

You may be wondering what the favor was. There's many, and it all started when I updated their computer systems, implemented some actual  _working_ security programs, you know, to stop people from downloading copies of online books, or watching porn, or whatever.

I've made it no secret that I read. Shakespeare. Nietzsche. Freud. Vonnegut. Orwell. A few poems on the side, too, just to spruce it up. I ain't much of a poem guy, but once, I found this poem with no name, in a dog-eared and wrinkled book from the 1920s. It went like this:

 _so much depends_   _upon_

 _a red wheel_ _barrow_

 _glazed with rain_   _water_

 _beside the white_ _chickens_

XXII, nameless poem number 22. Later publications called it The Red Wheelbarrow, but I prefer it nameless - nameless, like me. I've never been able to get it out of my head.

I wander the library for a bit. I sweep up random books and flick through them. Soon, it becomes  _abundantly_ clear that my little trip isn't going to distract me from the swelling grief inside our chest. I can't even read, can't even focus on the words on the page.

I spot a copy of  _The Count of Monte Cristo_  and head back to the desk with it.

Lucy has Flipper on the counter and is tickling under her chin. "Aren't you an adorable little girl?"

I clear my throat. "Release the dog, ma'am, or I'll have to resort to force."

"You're done, already?"

I hold up  _Monte Cristo._ "I'm taking this."

"You sound like a thief." Lucy swaps me Flipper for the book, "You're lucky you still have three weeks on your last book. I'll make this a year too, shall I?"

I put Flipper on the ground and hold her lead to stop her from wandering. To Lucy, I say, "Is that  _salt_ I'm hearing?"

"Not at all." She stamps the book and passes it back to me, "but next time I expect a postcard from wherever you go when you disappear off the face of the earth."

I think of the pitch-black unconsciousness, the void, and cringe. "It's not much of a place, trust me."

"Then stop going."

 _Gosh-golly, didn't think of that._ I shrug, "Be seeing you, then."

"In a month or a year?"

"Whenever!" I call over my shoulder, and I hear her laugh.

Book under my arm, I head back to the apartment. Once inside, I let Flipper off her lead, "There you go, you little rascal."

Flipper waddles off to snuffle around the apartment.

I settle down on the couch to read, but I hear a weird gagging noise from Flipper. I jump up. "Hey!" I swipe her under my arm and stick my hand in her mouth, "Let it go, you stupid mutt!"

She spits whatever it is into my hand and looks at me with big eyes.

"Spare me that look, you're far from innocent." I put her back down on the floor and she goes back to mooching. Keeping Flipper in my peripheral vision, I look at the thing she tried to eat. It's a card with a phone number. Frowning, I turn it over, but there's no name. I try to think where Elliot got it.

_You can call me Mr Sutherland for now._

Scowls gave it to us. Scowls's name is Sutherland. The number is Tyrell Wellick's number.

Huh. So that whole 'proposal' ordeal has already happened, and Elliot turned him down flat. Ha. Wish I had been there for that, just to see the look on Wellick's face. But Wellick must be as dumb as a post if he thinks either of us are actually going to use this number. I roll my eyes, crumple the card in my fist, and throw it into the trash can on the other side of the room.

Shit. Now I have  _Wellick_  on the brain. I think about what happened in the bathroom at Steel Mountain.

You know what? Fuck it. With fsociety on hold, and Darlene giving us space, I ain't got nothing better to do. I'm not letting Wellick think he has a hold over me.


	4. d1nner.

The main receptionist at E-Corp is a lady with dark hair in a tight pin-up. Her hair is pulled so close to her skin that, from a distance, she looks bald. I go up to her with an easy smile.

"Hi, I'm here to see Tyrell Wellick." I say, "Could you tell him 'Elliot Alderson' is here to see him?"

The receptionist looks me up and down with a disgusted eye. I blame the hoodie. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Trust me, I don't need one." I wink, "Just dial him up."

She narrows her eyes, but lifts the receiver to her ear and makes the call. "Elizabeth, please inform Mr Wellick that a Mr Elliot Alderson is in the lobby asking to see him. Claims he needs no appointment." She pauses, "Eliza- Oh, Mr Wellick, sir! I told him he needs...Oh? Oh, right. No, sorry. Yes, uh...I mean, that is..." I grin at her floundering. "No, no, no. Of course." she clicks off and gives me a shaky smile, "He'll be down straight away, just take a seat."

He's down in minutes. In his rush, his cheekbones are flushed pink and his hair is slightly mussed, which he corrects immediately. "Elliot," he swallows. "What are you..."

"Whatever you're doing, cancel it." I step up to him, "You're taking me to lunch."

His tie is a mess, and I straighten it for him, tsking gently.

Wellick's throat clicks. "Now?"

That's not a no.

"Now is as good a time as any." I pinch my lip with my teeth, and watch his eyes flit down. "Besides, there's a debt between us, and I believe in erasing debts."

His eyebrow raises a touch. "I don't recall owing you anything."

"That's because you don't."

He frowns.

"I owe you." I say, "Dinner. With me." I shrug, "I interrupted us last time."

His eyes flit, looking over my face. "You should have called."

"I'll consider it next time." I lie. There wasn't going to be a next time. "You coming or not?"

"Give me a minute." He goes over and says something to the receptionist. Then he neatens his hair again and comes back, "Let's go."

We head out, side by side, and go into town. A couple of people glance our way, unsurprisingly. Look at us. With him in his suit, and me in a hoodie, we must look like quite the pair.

"I know a few places not far from here..." Wellick begins.

"Actually, I was thinking something a little simpler." I throw him a smirk. He's so going to hate this. "McDonalds?"

He flinches.

I grin wickedly, "What, you scared of a little fondling from good old Ronald?"

He forces a smile, "Of course not."

"Then let's go."

It only takes a few minutes to get there. I have us sit in the back corner, away from the window. I can Wellick is grateful for that, Mr Big-Shot and all, but I wasn't doing it for him. New York may be a big place, but I don't wanna risk someone from fsociety, or one of Elliot's colleagues, seeing us here - together.

I get the cheeseburger and a coke. Wellick gets the chicken burger and a bottle of water. He pokes a fry, wrinkles his nose, and wipes his hands on his napkin.

I smirk at him, "Uncomfortable?"

"It's just so..."

"Ordinary? Shock, horror."

"You're doing this on purpose." he narrows his eyes, "...Have I done something to upset you?"

I snort.

He leans closer and whispers, "Is this because I know your secret? I already told you, I won't tell anyone. Colby's arrest gave me the opportunity I needed to fight for the CTO position. Turning you in - bringing him _back?_ \- It would only impede my plan." he smiles, and leans back again. "You should consider us equals. I know your weakness and you know mine. We have an understanding."

"An understanding?" I huff, incredulous. "Listen, Wellick -"

"Tyrell." he corrects, "If we're eating together, you should least call me by my first name."

I resist rolling my eyes. "Tyrell then." I spread my hands. "You've gotta realise I'm not exactly _thrilled_ that Colby's former right-hand knows my dirty little secret."

"I despise Colby." Tyrell spits, "He's arrogant, not to mention an idiot."

I can't exactly disagree with that. But if Tyrell is telling the truth, and given there's no doubt that Colby's arrest paved the way for him, then he already knows that he has no control over me. Knowing my 'weakness' means shit. That whole thing in the bathroom had to be a ruse. Fine. I can deal with that. But it also means neither of us can attack the other. We're just...playing pretend. Anything I do is worth shit.

That sucks.

I snatch up my coke and take a long slurp.

Tyrell's face goes soft. "I understand you're concerned. You're very secretive." Suddenly, he laughs. "You know, when we drove to your apartment, I mistook your secrecy for modesty."

Still sipping my coke, I raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Anyone else would have jumped at the offer I was making you, but you were convinced I didn't want you. I thought, I _assumed_ , wrongly, that you were too humble, that you didn't believe in your skill despite evidence. You kept insisting you were normal." he pauses, "When you brought up using sex as a means of promotion, I had thought - it's silly, but - I thought you meant that you wanted to sleep with _me_ -"

I choke. Coke splatters across the table.

"Obviously, that's not what you meant..."

"Damn _right_ that's not what I meant!" I screech, ignoring the looks of several customers and staff thrown my way, " _Jesus_ fuck!"

"I just couldn't think of any other way to take it..."

"How about the obvious? I was joking!"

"I know that now." He says, "I realised that when you turned down the job. Though, I still don't understand why. You could be rich."

"I don't give a shit about money." I say, unthinking.

He blinks.

"Besides," I add, picking the gerkins off my cheeseburger and popping them in my mouth, "You didn't _really_ want me working with you."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Oh come on!" I wave my cheeseburger at him, "Drop the act. We both know you just wanted me in a place you could keep an eye on me." My voice gets an edge to it that I can't hide. "But not anymore, right?"

"...I'm not sure what you're saying."

So that's how he's going to play it? I can feel myself getting pissed off, and I lean back in my chair to help me relax. I spot a family of four eating two tables away. The brother and sister are kicking each other under the table, and they remind me of Elliot and Darlene. I look away.

"How many times are we gonna do this?" I say, "Talk in circles, waiting for the other one to trip up?"

"I don't know what you're -"

I sneer. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Steel Mountain, the job offer, the ride home - it was all because I interrupted your 'gym' session. All this talk of faith and connection and understanding, it's just a _mask_. You wanted to know my weakness so you had something you could use against this little cockroach who dared scuttle into your path."

Tyrell watches me. He seems confused. "I never called you a cockroach."

Suddenly, I'm in a blind rage. "Yes you did, you prick!" I slam my hand on the table, and several heads turn towards our table, "In the bathroom at Steel Mountain."

"I said you were extraordinary."

I open my mouth to argue, then pause because I do remember him saying that. I go over the conversation again in my head. "You said I was like the waiter."

Fuck me, did that sound petty.

He looks amused, "I said you had an ordinary motivation and weakness and, true, I was a little disappointed by that. It's silly, but I had it in my mind that you were, I don't know, more than human."

I glare.

Tyrell takes a slow sip of his water. "But you're half-right." he says, "I just wanted to know your weakness at first. I wanted to level the playing field. But then you started to interest me. Our similar backgrounds, your intelligence," he meets my eyes, "Now, I just want to know you. Of course, that still includes your weakness. After all, don't we all know the weaknesses of those closest to us?"

I lean back.

"I'm sorry if my comments offended you." He sounds like he means it, "Truthfully, Elliot, I admire you. I'd like it if we could trust each other."

Did I seriously flip out over a misunderstanding?

Humiliating.

"Whatever, man." I snatch up my drink.

We eat in silence for a while, and I'm totally not brooding, so shut up. I eye Tyrell, still not buying this whole 'let's-be-friends' deal, though I guess if Elliot connects to people through hacking, connecting to people through weakness isn't exactly far-fetched, even if Tyrell's methods are way off the mark when it comes to normal. Still, can I even trust that he's telling the truth?

When Tyrell bites his burger and grimaces, I can't help but laugh. "You can't honestly tell me you're too good for a sandwich." I say, "I bet you live on hummus or something. Hummus and protein shakes, going by the abs."

Something settles and passes on Tyrell's face, and he says, "And you? Tater Tots?"

I look at him.

He's smiling.

I shrug, "Ain't nothing wrong with Tater Tots."

He chuckles.

My straw hits the coarse cardboard bottom of my cup and slurps loudly. I put it down and reach for my fries, giving each a considerable wallop of tomato sauce before putting them into my mouth.

Tyrell does a full-body twitch.

I frown. "What? Don't tell me you hate ketchup too?"

"You've got...Here." He grabs a napkin and before I can so much as blink, he's reached over and is wiping the side of my mouth, "Sauce. Right there."

I go rigid.

He scrunches up the napkin and leans back like nothing happened.

Huh.

I clear my throat, but I don't get the chance to react more than that, because Elliot's phone buzzes in our pocket.

 

**ANGELA**

**If you need to talk, I'm here.**

 

An easy out, if I ever wanted one. I could tell Tyrell that something came up and skip out - but my face tingles where Tyrell touched it, distracting, and I ignore the text and put the phone back into my pocket.

"I've been meaning to ask," Tyrell says, "Why aren't you at work today?"

No one at AllSafe was expecting Elliot to turn up today, though if Elliot was online right now, he would have. AllSafe is his focal point, like the arcade is for me, it keeps him going, that meaningless repetition.

I shrug, "I wouldn't be here if I was at work, would I."

Tyrell swallows, which I gotta say is a pretty weird reaction.

"I, uh, had errands to run." I add, "The usual. Walked the dog, popped to the library..."

Tyrell's eyes brighten and he puts his clasped hands on the table between us, "Yes, you mentioned Shakespeare. But you don't strike me as the reading kind."

"It's the hoodie, isn't it?" I joke, "Too bad I can't convince myself to change it."

"No, I meant..." he trails off, and starts again, "What do you like to read? I imagine you being a _1984_ fan or, maybe _Catcher in the Rye_."

"Classy." I muse, " _1984_ , yeah kinda. Though I gotta admit it's a bit of a downer. Books need levity, you know?"

Tyrell nods, "I agree, Winston should have tried harder to resist interrogation. He should have stayed loyal to the one he loved."

"She betrayed him too, remember." I say, "They rolled over and let tyrants beat them into the ground."

My phone goes off again. Angela has decided that a single text wasn't good enough and has moved up to calling.

After three rings, Tyrell says, "Don't you need to answer that?"

"It's nothing." I motion to his fries with my chin, "You gonna eat those?"

He pushes his fries to me. "It doesn't sound like nothing."

"What, are you jealous or something?"

"Don't be silly." He huffs and his smile looks forced. "The things you say sometimes..."

But I'm narrowing my eyes at that forced smile. Man, Tyrell and his weirdness. I can't get a hold on him. Like when I joked about techs sucking dick, he went all weird about that too - and anyway, who the heck assumes that an obvious joke like that is an actual proposition? Unless...unless you were secretly _hoping_ it was.

Wait.

I mean, the whole shoulder-touch thing, the 'wanting to be close', not to mention the way he touched my face just now...

Bingo.

Tyrell Wellick's got a crush.

How about that.

I should have noticed it sooner. Elliot's doe-eyes are hard to resist. Heck, the number of times I've noticed Angela and Shayla and that redhead from AllSafe, whatever her name is, gazing at them goes beyond count.

Heh. Should give him the 'my little baby' speech or beat him up? Gotta protect Elliot's virtue after all. That's what dads do, right? I chuckle to myself, and Tyrell's eyes zone in on me. He hangs onto my every word. Of course he does. I wave him off, and he looks disappointed.

Now I know for sure - he really does just want us to be close.

This whole thing was supposed to be my turn at victory, the sudden snatching of my piece before he could checkmate me - but Tyrell was playing a completely different game. I gotta say that's a little anti-climatic, but still, it's better than the alternative.

My phone buzzes again, and I wince. Angela was always bad at giving up.

Tyrell pushes out his lips. "People seem desperate to reach you."

I wave my hand, "Just friends."

"Is there somewhere you need to be?"

"Nah. They're just worried. Like mother hens, the lot."

Well. The one. But who's counting?

"Why would they be worried about you?" he leans closer "...You never explained why you aren't at work."

I roll my eyes. "Does it matter? I wanted to be here."

Tyrell blinks rapidly.

Wait.

No.

I cut in before he can say anything, "Look, they're worried because..." I start formulating a lie, but then I think, what the hell? I sigh. "...someone I knew died."

"Oh." his face goes slack, "I'm sorry."

Elliot's pain hurts my chest. "Well, I appreciate it but... It's not really like that. Somebody I care about is hurting and there's nothing I can do to help." I motion between us, "I needed the distraction."

There's a pause. Then Tyrell says, "I made a mistake. In my plan, I mean. I...acted rashly, and now my job may be threatened and I have a son on the way. I know it doesn't compare but..."

"You needed the distraction too."

We stare at each other.

Maybe we are more similar than I'd like. That complicates things. There's a reason Elliot calls E-Corp 'Evil-Corp.' It's one great, big enemy, like a monster at the end of some crappy movie, a simple battle of good v evil, of revenge, of justice. No sympathy for the devil allowed. Yet, here's me...

"Anyway..." I push my garbage into a pile. "Good talk."

This isn't a freak out. This is putting an end to something that's gone on for too long.

Tyrell blinks. "You're leaving?"

"You're a busy guy." I say, "Meetings to get to, lives to destroy."

"I took the afternoon off."

"Good for you."

"Elliot…"

I push the garbage into the trash can behind me. I hear Tyrell sigh, and the chair groan as it's pushed backwards on the tile floor.

"At least let me see you to a cab?"

I eye him. "Don't see why not."

He moves, and I grab his elbow and pull him back. "Ah, ah, ah. Tidy up first." I gesture to the mess he's leaving. "Make the waiter's life easier."

He frowns, "But they're paid to clean up."

"They're paid to make up for being shat on, doesn't mean they should be." I scold, "Tidy up, you prick."

He tidies up.

Outside, summer heat and car exhausts makes the air putrid with fumes. I huff out a long breath and pop a cigarette in my mouth.

Tyrell frowns.

I pause before I light it. "You mind?"

"It's a bad habit." he says, cautiously.

I watch him. "You'd know all about those."

He watches the cigarette. "Smoking isn't one of them." His lips curl, "I don't like the taste."

"Well, in that case…" I put the unlit cigarette and the lighter back in my pocket and throw him a sly smirk.

Blinking rapidly, his mouth parts and his throat bobs as he swallows.

Jesus. Does this guy take everything personally?

"Relax." I tell him, "I'm kidding."

I spot a cab rolling our way and hail it down. It rolls to a stop in front of me and I open the door. Time to go home and…and what, exactly? I hesitate, still holding the door, and the cab driver is looking over his shoulder at me.

I turn around again.

Tyrell hasn't moved. He watches my face. "Elliot?"

I know – It's _Tyrell_. But here's the deal: I can still feel the pit of Elliot's despair in my stomach and the whole Dark Army bail has me miffed. Option one, I go home and wallow in self-pity. Option two, I join Darlene and wallow in outward rage.

Fuck those. I don't wallow.

Which leaves option three.

"I don't know about you," I say, coyly, and pull the cab door open wider, "but I could do with a drink right about now."


	5. all1es-0r-nah?

"I feel as though you're tempting me into the Underworld."

I bare my teeth at Tyrell, gesturing to the bar with a flourish, "Welcome to the land of sinners." I give him a once-over, looking at his perfectly-fitting, crease-less suit, and I shake my head. "But you ain't coming in here looking like that." I reel him in by his tie and while he's all stiff and shocked, I undo the knot, "This isn't a business bar, this is a get-drunk-and-pray-you-remember-nothing bar." I throw his tie at him and undo the first button on his shirt. I reach for his hair.

He grabs my wrists. "Not the hair."

I raise my hands and step back. "Alright, American Psycho. At least you look half-decent now."

He tucks his tie into his inside blazer pocket. "If I'd had known we were coming here, I wouldn't be wearing this."

"Are you saying a man like you doesn't prep for surprises? I'm embarrassed." I click my tongue, "Now come on. Drinks, music, and wild times are a-waiting." I push the door open. We've walked in halfway through the chorus of _Don't Stop Believing_ and that beat will be stuck in my head for a while. Elliot will probably hum it at work and won't know why.

We sit at the bar and I order two apple martinis, straight up. "I've been getting a real craving for these as of late." I pass one to Tyrell and sip my own, "The last guy I offered one too was…less than appreciative. What do you think?"

He takes a slow, even taste. "It's nice. I like it."

Ha.

_Robot – 1_

_Elliot – 0_

"Now that we've finished manipulating each other," Tyrell says, "Perhaps we can get to know each other better."

"Who says I'm finished?" I tease, "Favourite movie."

"What?"

"Favourite movie. Come on."

"Is this so you can figure out my passwords?"

"What happened to your faith?"

Tyrell chuckles, and says, "Det sjunde inseglet."

I raise my eyebrow. "What sorry?"

"I believe in English it's called The Seventh Seal."

"You like The Seventh Seal? Get out!" I shake my head, "You _would_ pick the most pretentious thing you could think of."

"And yours?"

I hesitate. "Back to The Future 2."

"Why the second one?"

"What can I say? I find a kid fixing an apocalyptic-hell-hole future with a crazy older guy kind of endearing."

The apple martini's are gone before I realise it. The music pauses, and a slightly tipsy girl gets on stage, and starts singing Jason Derulo's _Want to Want me_. She's not exactly in-key, putting it nicely, but she keeps up with the speed of the song well enough and most people in here are too drunk to care.

Tyrell frowns at the stage.

"Lighten up!" I have to shout over the rowdy group of dudes in the corner who are cheering the girl on, "You're as stiff as a surfboard. When was the last time you went out?"

"I went out recently for work." At least I think that's what he said. The music is loud and he's doing his little petulant mumble. But I see the word 'work' and I interrupt him.

"For fun, genius!" I say, "You're worse than Trenton."

He frowns, "The city?"

I wave it off, "Point is, you ain't hanging with me unless you get that hunk of wood from up your ass."

Tyrell looks at the stage once more, and then turn to the barman, "Double-vodka."

"That's more like it!" I laugh. And to the guy serving, "Same for me."

Tyrell gets his and downs it all in one go.

"You know that wasn't water, right?"

He takes mine before I can grab it and downs it too. He grins, "I know."

I gawp at him. Little fucker just stole my drink...

Tyrell gets another one.

"Huh." I lean back, "So that's it."

He pauses mid-drink. "What?"

I snatch the glass from his hand and his face drops. "Checkmate."

He blinks and pouts and reaches for his glass.

I give it back to him, raising my hands. "I just wanted to figure out your weakness," I say, echoing his words from the bathroom back at him, "Vodka. How ordinary."

He blinks and then laughs, shaking his head into his vodka. He sips it slower.

"Hey, don't let me put you off." I wave the barman over, "Give me a beer so he won't steal it."

Tyrell looks over his shoulder. I don't have to turn to know he's looking at the stage again. A group of boisterous guys are up there now, drunkenly, uh, chanting the lyrics to _Shut Up and Dance_.

"You keep looking over there like you wanna go up." I tease, "Careful, or I might push you up there."

Tyrell meets my eyes, downs the last of his drink, and stands.

I stare.

He's walking away.

"Are you kidding me right now?"

He's going on stage.

I lean back in my chair, jaw hanging open. He's actually going to do this? Mr Don't-Taint-My-Image embarrassing himself, drunken singing? Hell, I don't think he's that drunk.

The previous song fades out and Tyrell takes his place on the stage. The bar quietens a touch to listen.

Smooth strumming of a guitar starts to play.

I recognise the song. _Oh he isn't..._

When Tyrell starts to sing, my jaw freaking drops.

He looks at me from the stage. "Earth-Angel, Earth-Angel, will you be mine?"

He can sing.

He can _sing?!_

"Motherfucker." He was playing me the whole time. I raise my glass to him, shaking my head in amusement. I try not to think about the fact that he's singing that song for me. I mean, for Elliot, technically. Elliot is the one he has a crush on.

By the end of the song, Tyrell has shaken his hair loose, and he jumps into the seat next to me, sweating and grinning.

"You sure proved me wrong!" I say.

"Your turn, now, isn't it?"

"There is no way you're getting me on that stage."

"Then you accept defeat?"

I guffaw. "I ain't falling for that bait. How about a peace offering?" I order us a whiskey each. Lifting my glass, I say, "Truce?"

He clinks our glasses together. "For now." He's smiling when he says it, and I wonder when I started liking this semi-banter, semi-friendly thing we had going on.

I shake my head, "You really are a crazy bastard, aren't you?"

Tyrell drinks, exposing the column of his throat. I watch him swallow.

Things start to blur together after that. I forget the drinks I have right after I have them. At one point, I spot the news on TV. It's on mute, but the scroll at the bottom says 'TERRY COLBY BREAKS SILENCE' and that has been downing my drink and ordering another.

Tyrell is telling me about some guy at work called Scott Knowles, and I think I'm getting to the part where Tyrell spills all his secrets to me – problem is, I'm not really paying attention, because there's this guy, some randy, looking at us from across the bar. He's clearly had one too many drinks, and is twitching like a bull ready to be let out of its cage.

"…and then Scott humiliated me by saying…"

The randy across the room says something to his friend and starts walking towards us.

"…and-and I just…He's nothing but a cockroach. I mean, he isn't but I wish he was then I could wring his filthy little…."

I put my hand on his arm, "Easy there. We've got company."

Randy stops next to us. "You're Tyrell Wellick, aren't you?" he swerves to give me the stink-eye, and turns back to Tyrell, "From E-Corp?"

"Yes." Tyrell says proudly.

I shift nervously. I don't like this randy's expression. He looks waaay too confident for a guy who can barely stand. My instinct was on the money, because randy's face twists ugly and he rams his fist into Tyrell's jaw.

Tyrell hits the floor.

I'm shove randy against the bar. "Want to try that again, you prick?"

"You – f-fuck you!" stutters the guy, "He works for E-Corp! Ain't no good fucker who ever worked for E-Corp! It was on the news and everything. Gave their workers cancer."

I see red. "And who are you, huh? You look like you slipped out your mom's cunt five seconds ago, so what the hell do you know about it? You're just a little squirt playing hero. Isn't it your bedtime?"

Randy blinks and his eyes are bleary. Whether any of what I said was heard, it's hard to tell.

Out the corner of my eye, I see Tyrell climb from the floor. He says something I'm pretty sure was a Swedish insult. I glance over to make sure he's alright, but the second my head turns, randy hits me. Tyrell catches me by my shoulders, and I twist round and clock one on randy's face so hard it sends him to the ground.

No surprise, we're kicked out the bar for that.

I pace up and down the street outside. "Little fucking cocksucker – 'gave their workers cancer' – probably saw that shit on the _news_ …"

"Elliot."

"…the fucking virtue-signalling little prick, like he has _any_   idea what it feels like…"

"Elliot, stop it!" Arms catch me and turn me and I'm looking at Tyrell's face, "You need to calm down."

I glance around. People stare at us as they go pass. Some have stopped and are recording us on their phones. A group of guys laugh. One of them looks like the randy in the bar. I shove Tyrell off me and turn to them, "Hey, kids, don't forget to tag me @go-fuck-your-mother!"

"Please, excuse us. He's very drunk." Tyrell says to a mother whose covering her toddler's ears.

"Your friend shouldn't say things like that in public."

"SHIT-CUNT-FUCKER!"

"Terribly sorry, miss." Tyrell's arm wraps around my shoulder, "Let's go, Elliot."

I let him drag me off, but the minute we're in a private alley I shove him off me. "Don't fucking touch me!"

"Elliot, calm down. You're upset and you're lashing out."

"What are you? A frigging therapist?!" I snort and turn away from him before I punch him. I throw my palms against the wall and push my forehead against it. It's cold and wet, and the brick is bumpy and digs into my skull, and I sigh. I'm not mad at him. I'm mad at…shit, everything. E-Corp. Dark Army. Elliot.

A few moments of silence pass, and I hear muffled giggling.

I turn.

Tyrell has his chin tucked into his chest, but I can still see his face is creased.

I narrow my eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Shit-cunt-fucker?" Tyrell looks at me and laughs a loud. " _Very_ eloquent."

I huff, "I admit, not my best."

Tyrell laughs again, and, weirdly, it makes me feel a lot better. Tyrell just made me feel better. Hell, maybe if I wasn't set out to destroy his company, we could be friends.

Jesus. I must really be hammered if I can think a thought like that.

What a day.

I pinch my nose.

Quiet now, Tyrell steps towards me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. He barely clipped me."

"I wasn't talking about that."

I look at him.

He watches me. "You and your father must have been close."

If only he knew the irony of that statement.

"Practically identical." I give him a dry smile, "Still, old wounds."

Tyrell's eyes flit away from me and back again. "In Chicago, E-Corp is covering up the sexual assaults committed by their main office manager. In Houston, they're currently pressuring a farmer to sell his land, so a new power plant can be built. And you already know about Hezbollah and ISIS."

"I get it. E for Evil." I grumble, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I know all of E-Corp's secrets." He says, "The next Washington Township could be either one of those places I mentioned, and there's many more. Terry Colby wasn't enough for you, I can see that. Whatever the next stage of your plan is, whether it's to arrest more scumbags, I can help."

"You do realise you fall on that list of scumbags, don't you?"

Immediately, I feel bad for saying it.

He smirks. "But I don't." He steps towards me, backs me right into the wall, "If I did, you wouldn't have defended me in there."

"I was mad at the kid."

"You pushed him away before he angered you, I was watching, you pushed him because he hit me."

I don't have the clear-mind to argue against that. "Either way, I don't want your help." I say, "I can take down E-Corp on my own."

His eyes widen. "You want to take down _the entire company?_ "

Fucking alcohol.

"E-Corp owns everything, that would cause economic collapse." Tyrell continues, "Why destroy such a powerful entity?"

"Because it's powerful!" I say, "Because it's running the world, controlling people's actions, and keeping them prisoner without their knowledge. It owns their debts, their loans, their mortgages – their lives. They don't deserve that power!"

Tyrell tilts his head, "But if I were to take over E-Corp, it could be different. With you by my side, we can re-shape it into something that changes lives for the better. You, your father, all those people in Washington Township could have retribution. You and me, Elliot, we can make that happen. Why take the power away when we can wield it for good?"

"That sure sounds tempting but…"

"Then that's a yes?"

"We're too drunk to be talking about this." I need to shut him up before he mentions Colby again.

He pouts, "I'm not drunk."

I jab him in the chest.

He sways and grabs my shoulders for support.

"Not drunk, huh?" I tease. With our height difference, I'm staring right at his mouth and I'm not really sober enough to bother raising my eyes a few inches higher. Besides, it's a nice mouth - and I did _not_ just think that.

He squeezes my shoulders, and I feel his breath when he whispers, "Elliot..." and instead of letting go, he slides his hands up to cup my neck.

"What-" my voice catches halfway through because Tyrell brushes the soft flesh under my ears, and that feels a little too nice. I clear my throat, reaching up and clasping his wrists to stop the motion. "What are you doing?"

His fingers fan across my cheeks. "I don't know." He sways again, sways right into me, right until our lips slot together.

I breathe in sharply and lift my hands away from him, caught half way between yanking him closer like any other horny drunk and pushing him away like I should.

Tyrell angles my face, so he can lick his way in deeper, and – fuck – it feels great. I expected Tyrell to be the rough sort, but it's surprisingly soft. I can't deny that Tyrell scores grade-A in the looks department either.

But it's _Wellick_. Talk about fraternising with the enemy, not that I haven't done enough of that already, but a line needs to be drawn somewhere!

I push him away. I stare at him.

He stares back, his eyes dark and glassy from the alcohol.

Finally, he says, "You taste like McDonalds."

"I hope you realise that's the least sexiest thing I've ever heard."

That resets him. His eyes widen and drops my face. I hear his throat click when he swallows.

"Calm down." I raise my eyebrows at him, "You look like you're about to freak out."

A short, sharp breath is the only sound he makes. He backs away, looking anywhere but my face, and he's suddenly sobering up, realising what he did, coming to terms with it and...I watch that moment hit and it hits him hard – his face crumples and he scrubs hands through his hair and twists away from me.

I stare, mouth parted and eyebrows high, and my chest flutters and I can't seem to get enough breath.

So that just happened.

No longer pressed against the wall, I shift forward and roll my shoulders. I breathe out, "Damn."

Tyrell mutters in Swedish. The name 'Joanna' is in there, but the rest is lost on me.

Joanna must be his wife. So much for being happily married.

Tyrell breathes heavily.

"Tyrell."

His shoulders tighten.

"Listen." I say, "This crush? It'll pass. They always do."

He doesn't say anything.

"…This isn't cheating, okay? You clearly love your wife too much for that."

Tyrell breathes slower and he angles his chin to his collar. "You're right, of course. My apologises. I don't know what came over me."

I shove my hands into my pockets, "Hey, you're drunk. It happens."

He says nothing. He takes his tie out his blazer pocket and loops it around his collar, he does up his top button, brushes his hair back in place - piecing back together his perfect image that I'd spent the last couple of hours picking apart. "I'm going to find myself a cab." he says, "I'm late home."

Well, one good thing should come of this - I can't imagine Tyrell would want to see me again. I've finally got him off my back. Elliot, the project - we're safe now.

Tyrell turns, glances at me, then away again. He runs his tongue on the inside of his lips, and nods. His lips are tight. "Bonsior, Elliot."

As he leaves, my chest does a weird little flip. Must be Elliot's loneliness again.


	6. Syst3m-Cr4sh.

"Uggghhhhhhhhhharrrgh!"

"Dude, chill out, before you trash the place again."

The arcade is frustratingly quiet. Trenton, Mobley and Romero have been in the wind since the DA ditched our asses. It's just me and Darlene left. Darlene is trying to hack her DA contact and former bedwarmer, Cisco, and I have nothing to do. It's like being at a funeral. I've played all the games in this damn place, got top spot for all of them except Mallard Murder, because fuck those goddamn ducks. Now I'm bored shitless.

Puttering my lip, I flick off the 'GAMES' sign. I flick it back on. Off. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoffonoff-

"Jesus, stop!" Darlene groans. "You're such an asshole. I can take your shit for a day – but every day for the past week and a half?" She grabs a Strongbow from the box on the air hockey table.

I reach for one too.

She slaps my hand. "No way! You pissed off and drunk? Have you met you?" She grabs the box and puts it on the floor, and then crosses her boots on top with a heavy thump. "I get that you're having a rough time right now, but don't take it out on me or your liver."

I scoff, "You don't get shit."

I'm being particularly inconsiderate today, but for good reason. Elliot's grief for Shayla has us switching back and forth like some out of whack disco light. Elliot gets up and goes to work without eating. At the end of each day, the minute he steps out of AllSafe, he clocks out. Too miserable to notice. Then who's left to deal with it? You guessed it:  _Me._

But don't get me wrong, I can usually handle that fine, because I have the revolution, the thing that's finally going to put an end to our pain. I throw myself into that full-force to distract myself. But not anymore. With the DA out, there is no revolution. I've got nothing.

"Fine." Darlene mutters, "I don't know what it's like for my girlfriend to be murdered. I admit it. You happy?"

"Not really." I pace between Pac-Man and Ridge Racer eight times and march back to Darlene to look over her shoulder. Three seconds later, I hear her take a deep, long breath and after a few more seconds, I say, "Darlene. ...Darlene. Hey, Darlene!"

Her voice is strained. "What?"

"Nothing."

She stands so quickly her chair falls over. She slams her laptop shut.

"Whoa." I say, "What are you doing?"

She grabs her jacket, "I'm leaving!"

"No - Come on, I was kidding!"

"I don't care. I'm so sick of your shit!"

I raise my hands in surrender. "Okay. Look." I say slowly, "I am sorry."

"Either I leave, or you do," she glares at me and doesn't waver, "and if you want this doing, then you know the answer."

_She's bluffing._ I scoff, "Whatever."

She grabs her laptop bag and shoves her laptop in it.

"Are you kidding me right now?!"

"I don't have to take this from you."

She's not kidding.

"Alright!" I shout, clenching my fists, "I'm leaving! Good fucking riddance!"

Darlene sits back down, slides her headphones over her ears, and turns the music up full-blast.

Bright daylight makes me squint as I march out the arcade and slam the door behind me. I kick the door for good measure. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I trudge across to the Wonder Wheel, figuring it would cheer me up. Five turns later, I'm sick of it and not feeling any better. I head off down the pier, plonk myself down on a bench, and read a bit of  _Monte Cristo_  - but I'm too pissed to read for long.

I take the subway home. I eat. I shower. I walk the dog for an hour. By the time that's done with, I'm not annoyed anymore, but I'm still bored as shit. I eat again, and sit on the couch and flick through random shit on our phone. Finally, I throw the phone on the seat next to me and look at Flipper. "Is this what it's come to? Me watching cat videos?!"

From her bed, Flipper cocks her head at me. She stretches into a stand, picks up her tennis ball, and waddles over to me. She drops it by my feet. Her eyes are as big as they can get.

I throw the ball because the mut is right; I ain't got nothing better to do. The ball hits the floor, and Flipper scuttles after it and brings it back. And again. And again. The bounce of the ball against the floor becomes a monotone. On the third throw, the ball hits the trashcan and knocks it over. Flipper pauses and looks at the mess, and I remember how she nearly choked on that trash before. I shout, "No!"

She freezes.

I hurry to set the trashcan upright and tidy up before she tries to eat any of it. "The last thing I need is you dying on my watch."

Flipper picks up the ball and sits with it in her mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah." I grumble, "No thanks for saving your ass. Believe me, I'm used to it."

Picking up the last of the junk, I find the crumpled-up card with Tyrell's number on it. I unfold it.

Suddenly the idea of using his number doesn't seem so crazy. I mean, Tyrell is kinda fun to be around, when he's not being Mr Perfect. But that's probably my boredom talking. Jeez, I sound like a regular old Mrs Robinson.

I look at Flipper, "What do you think, pooch?"

Flipper puts the ball down at my feet.

"You're real selfish, you know that?"

But she's given me a second to think. As bored as I am, talking to Tyrell is an unnecessary risk. He knows too much already. Sure, the bastard may be smitten, but that doesn't mean he isn't a danger - to me and to Elliot. I mean, hello, Steel Mountain? If Tyrell had mentioned anything we did together, it would have been game over for me.

Anyway, that kiss…? Heh. As hot as it was, it's kinda awkward. I mean, it's hard to ignore that Elliot was the roofied third party in that kiss. That is definitely a boner-killer - not that I have one or anything because it's Wellick and that's just wrong. If I'd had known he was gonna was slip a sneaky bit of tongue, I would have stopped him before he did it. Point being, staying away from Tyrell is the best way to protect Elliot from...anymore of that.

With a decisive grunt, I put the card back in the trash can. Flipper has gotten tired of waiting for me to throw the ball and has wandered over to her blanket to rest. With a sigh, I sit back on the couch and lean my head back. I look at the roof, eyelids drifting, boredom fogging up my brain and – 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100101 01101101 01110000 01110100 01111001 - Flipper licks my face. She growls and whines.

I push her away, muttering, "What?"

She bites me.

I jolt, "Fuck!" My shout makes her start, and she scrambles off the couch, and dives into the bed, burying herself under the cover.

She bit me. She  _bit_ me!

Then I notice how…gross I feel, like I've been smothered in oil and salt. I stink of sweat too, and my back hurts where it's been pressed to the couch for too long. How long have I been out? Elliot and I must have swapped, but then why haven't we moved…?

Shit.

Elliot hadn't come back – I'd just gone away.

My breath rises to my throat and gets caught there. I choke. I gasp. I cough into my sleeve. I take shallow breaths through my nose, anything to unclog that block, and, finally, I manage to swallow over it, and breathe normally.

In the meantime, Flipper has emerged. She barks at me, and then stands by her bowl, and keeps on barking.

Her bowl is empty. But for how long?

"Oh, shit!" I'm on feet. My hands shake as I fill her bowl with food and another with water. She swallows it all down in seconds. She's starving. I must have been gone a while. A day? More?

I check Qwerty. He's alive, at least, and I give him double his usual amount of feed, and he nibbles them down to nothing faster than Flipper. Can't imagine what it would do to Elliot if either of these two died. Probably mess him up more than he already is, and I could do without that.

When my hands finally stop shaking, I check the date on our phone.

I've been gone four days.

This is what happens. Without purpose, I fade.

Flipper pushes her empty bowl towards me and I fill it up again. I sink down onto the couch and press my face into my hands. Too close. Too fucking close.

That's when I realise how fucking _starving_ I am.

I stick a bowl of popcorn in the microwave. The random popping as it cooks is kinda comforting. I eat it by the truckload, while Flipper glares at me from her blanket, whining softly. At least fish don't hold grudges.

I pinch my nose. Fuck. It feels like my insides are trembling. I can't let this happen again. I need something to keep me here until Darlene gets the DA back. But what? Outside of Elliot's intended purpose for me, all I have is the damn library. That isn't enough. I need something more concrete, something that in the moments were I'm drifting away, it'll be there quick enough to snap me back.

I glance at the trashcan. It's like a black spot in my vision. I go over and dig out Tyrell's number again.

I'm not too proud to admit this might work and, more importantly, that I need it to. Risks aside, its worth a shot. I mean, it's not like I'm going to see him. Hell no, I ain't that far gone. But a few texts shouldn't hurt. That way, there's no risk of anymore…awkward situations.

I pocket the card with the number and grab Flipper's lead from the kitchen counter. Flipper hunches as I approach.

"Come on, it was an accident. You gotta believe me."

She growls.

"What do you want me to do?" I shake my head, "I can't have you hating me, Elliot won't know what hit him. Kid's heart is already broken, no need to smash it."

I reach for her and she nips my hand. I hiss, but I know she could have bitten me much harder if she wanted to. Her biting me has brought her close enough for me to hook the lead to her collar. She doesn't look right happy about it, though. I rinse my hand under the sink before I head out, washing off the blood and hoping it doesn't scar. Flipper trails behind me, miserably.

I take her to the nearest pet store and buy her the fluffiest, most stupidly-coloured toy I can find, which happens to be a purple speckled dinosaur. When she sees it, Flipper wags her tail so hard it goes in circles and I chuckle. She takes the dinosaur in her mouth and refuses to let go.

I shrug, "You hold it then."

I go in a tech store a few blocks further. I get a new, cheap-ass phone, the kind that has no use to Elliot, or to any hacker for that matter. It doesn't have GPS, which makes it tricky to for spyware to track it - I don't doubt that Tyrell will try. I mean, I trust him and all, but if he's anything like me, which apparently, he is, I reckon he'd do it for the fun of it.

I save Tyrell's number as King Richard because I think it's funny.

But I still shitty about nearly killing Flipper, so I walk her to the park and let her run off the lead with her new toy. Exhausted, I sit myself on a bench and breathe deep, the air cool and fresh between my teeth. I take out the burner phone and run my thumb over the keypad.

Now. What to say.

_"Hey, don't wanna see you, but mind if we talk so I don't stop existing?"_

Or better yet:

_"Hey, kiss was hot, no homo, but the other person in me was asleep so let's not do that again."_

I chuckle. Yeah. Maybe not.

In the end, I settle on this: 

 

**UNKNOWN**

**"In all chaos there is a cosmos,** **in all**

**disorder, there is a secret** **order."**

 

He replies immediately.

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Carl Jung.**

 

He knows it's me. Either that or Tyrell makes a habit of replying to random numbers, but nah, he's way too smart for that. It tells me how confident this guy is, to risk being fished because he's so sure it's me.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Congratulations, you win the million-dollar**

**prize! All you have to do is text back your**

**name, social security number, and your soul.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I'm surprised you used this number.**

**I thought you were never going to.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Trust me, it PAINS me to do so.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I appreciate your sacrifice.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**No you don't**

 

The other phone, Elliot's phone, buzzes.

 

**ANGELA**

**Hey, I came to your apartment, but you**

**weren't there.** **You out?**

 

**ELLIOT**

**Yeah. Walking the po…**

 

Elliot wouldn't call Flipper 'the pooch.' I backspace and correct it to  **walking Flipper**  before I hit send and delete it along with the message she sent me. On the burner phone, Tyrell has texted back.

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Have you read Crime and Punishment?**

**It was recommended to me a while ago**

**and would like a valuable opinion before**

**I consider committing time to it.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Valuable opinion? I'm blushing.**

**But I've not read it. I'll add it to my list**

**right after I'm done with Monte Cristo.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**That's rather famous too. Is it good?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I'll have to get back to you on that.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Disappointing.**

**You're not as wide-read as I thought.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**We can't all be Mr I-Read-Shakespeare-For-Vocab-Practice.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I expected more from you.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I'm wounded. Seriously. Ouch.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**How tragic.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Prick.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Now, now, there's no need to be rude.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I hate you.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**You wish that were true.**

 

I pinch my tongue between my teeth in thought, but I don't know what to say to that. I pocket the phone and walk Flipper back to the apartment. Her new toy is chewed to shreds and downright unrecognisable.

"Good girl." I coo, "Destroy that evidence."

She touches her front paws to my leg and wags her tail.

Safe to say I've been forgiven.

When I'm not using the phone, I delete the messages, switch it off, and stash it at the very top of the book shelf in the apartment. Elliot rarely looks at his shelf. If he did, he would have noticed the Polaroid of the family he can't remember, and my cover would have been blown months ago. Even if he does look, the phone is hidden right at the top, tucked away in the back corner. And anyway, if he did find it, they'd be nothing on it. He'll probably get paranoid and cook it in his microwave. Fine with me.

Despite missing four days, Elliot isn't in the right mind to notice. He chalks it up to the everyday repetitive dull, forcing days into one, and when someone commented on his absence, he chalks it up to sleeping through the day. But neither of us miss any more days. Elliot goes about his routine at AllSafe as usual. His days grow longer as time passes, and my days grow shorter. But at the end of every one of his days, I dig out the burner phone to either text Tyrell myself, or find a text from him already waiting.

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Favourite Disney movie.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Uh…what?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Personality test.**

**Favourite Disney movie.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You do personality tests?**

**Please tell me your joking.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Of course I'm joking.**

**I'm secretly planning on hacking you.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Try your best.**

**And it's Robin Hood. Always did love that fox.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Of course. You have a lot in common.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**My dashing good-looks?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Among other things.**

 

Ah, shit. Gone into flirting territory. I need to reign it in. Don't wanna give him any ideas.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**And yours?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Aladdin.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**A bit cliché.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I liked the idea of a poor boy becoming emperor.**

**Besides, I was eleven and it was the first time I**

**saw a movie on a big screen – not to mention it**

**was the first time I went to the Stockholm**

**International Film Festival.**

 

**And before you ask, I'd never been to a theatre**

**because my father didn't like movies.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Your father is an ass. Who hates movies?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**He was very traditional.**

**I sneaked out with a group of friends.**

 

I find it hard to picture Tyrell doing that - but then I remember him getting on stage and singing, and hell, maybe he did.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**There's the rebel in you.**

**How is that guy? Tell him I say hi.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**He doesn't get out much**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You're telling me**

 

What started as a momentary distraction is becoming a favorite pastime. Somehow, these little pointless chats keep me occupied for days - which is good, since I've decided to give Darlene some space. Unfortunately that means I've not gone down to the arcade in case she's there. I have been holed up in the apartment, making sure the burner phone is hidden for whenever Elliot shifts about to eat and to go to work.

Yeah, he's eating on his own again. Far cry from him being right again. Inside, it feels like our wiring has been tampered with or some shit like that: I ain't bored anymore, which is great, but I still need Tyrell to distract me from Elliot's emotions.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**How's your big plan going by the way?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Delayed.**

**After my mistake, I needed to step back**

**and wait for the opportune moment.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Let me guess. Still waiting?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Unfortunately**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I can relate**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Do you need a distraction?**

 

I pause. He's asking me if I want to meet up.

Why would he...? I mean, call me crazy, but you'd think a guy who nearly cheated on his wife would stay away from the guy he nearly cheated on her with. He ain't put off by the smooch at all? There's no way he doesn't remember it. We were both drunk, but not that drunk.

Right?

Pfft, like it matters. I made a deal with myself that I'll be talking to him over text only.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**This is distraction enough.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I'm glad.**


	7. 5urvival-5trategy?

"I have a feeling you're indulging me because of that postcard comment." Lucy says when I visit the library one late afternoon, "Either that, or you're stacking up your collection for when you next disappear. You know you can borrow more than one at once, don't you?" She scans  _Crime and Punishment_  and hands it to me, "And by that, I mean in one trip."

"That sass..." I murmur, slipping the book into Elliot's backpack.

She shakes her head, "Yeah, I better be careful or you might not ever come back. But I have to ask." she adds, "You've never been in with a book on your mind before. You're an impulsive reader, the come-in-and-grab sort. Why the sudden change?"

"People don't usually recommend me stuff." I shrug, "I'm giving it a go."

"You're kidding." she looks at me over the top of her glasses, "Your friends don't pester you with books? I can't get mine to stop. Apparently, being the librarian of the group comes with that privilege. What's your technique?"

"No friends."

I ain't the type to dig for sympathy, so I meant it as a genuine fact, but Lucy gave me pity anyway. "Aw." She winces, "Well, at least that's changed. Whoever your friend is, keep them around."

"Eh," I wave my hand, "I'm more of a 'no-strings-attached' kinda guy."

After chatting with Lucy for a bit, I take the long route back to the apartment, and pull the burner phone from my pocket for today's entertainment:

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I'm surrounded by incompetence.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**What happened?**

**You walk past someone using Windows?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**What kind of people do you think**

**I surround myself with?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You're an arrogant prick.**

**Pretty sure everyone is incompetent to you.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**Not exactly the support I was hoping for.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Since when did you come to me for support?**

**Pretty sure that's your wife's job.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**You've not met my wife.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Clearly.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**She's been curious about you.**

 

I double-take.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You told her about me?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**She doesn't know who you are, but she's noticed**

**the texting.** **It's best not to hide things like this,**

 **or she might** **misinterpret.**

**She's glad I have a friend, but she's worried**

**you may be a distraction.**

 

There's that 'friend' thing again. I ignore it and focus on the 'distraction' thing instead. It's a perfect opportunity for some teasing: 

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You know it's not very gentleman-like**

**to text during sex.**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I DO NOT text during sex.**

**I meant distraction from our plan.**

 

So the wife is in on it? Check out the dynamic duo over here. I gotta say that piques my curiosity a bit, but I'm not done teasing Tyrell just yet.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You know what they say about wives...**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**#wife {**

**right: 100% ;**

**margin: 0 ;**

**}**

 

I don't get a reply for a few minutes - and then:

 

**KING RICHARD**

**You made me spit out my drink**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Naaww, did you get coffee on your shirt?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**On my colleague's shirt.**

**I'm in a meeting.**

**Hence 'surrounded by incompetence.'**

 

Well shit. I laugh.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Fuck I wish I was there!**

**How did you explain your way out of that?**

 

**KING RICHARD**

**I told him it was his fault for standing** **in front of me**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Wow. Dick move.**

 

Suddenly 'King Richard' isn't a funny enough name for Tyrell, so I change it to  **KING DICK**  - a good pun and a dick joke rolled into one. Gotta say, I'm proud of that one.

I'm chuckling, head down, so I don't notice the person sat on the stairs up the apartment block until they say, "Elliot!"

I jerk my head up.

Angela frowns, "What happened to your phone?"

I shove the burner phone in my pocket. "It's in the repair shop."

She raises her eyebrows, "Is that a lie?"

I scoff, "Yeah."

And it's a shitty one. Frankly, I'm embarrassed.

Angela pauses, and then laughs. "Okay." she stands, picking up the plastic bag on the step next to her, "I, er, brought you some things. Have you been eating?"

This concern isn't meant for me and I look at the road to hide my sneer. "Maybe."

"I made a few things." she looks in the bag, unsure, "It's...their all your favourites. You can just microwave them, and put the rest in the freezer. And there's this..." she reaches into the bag and takes out an envelope. She looks at it, "I wanted it to be perfect, but..." she stops talking and holds the envelope out to me.

I can tell when I take it that it's a card, a condolence card probably. "Thanks." I grumble, putting it in my pocket.

She glances at my pocket and back at my face. "Well, I..." she brushes her hair back behind her ear. I'm guessing she wants me to open the card, but it ain't for me, and I don't want to hear or see anymore condolences for the loss of someone I never met. "I've got to go. Still working on that lawsuit." She smiles, "This is it. Things are finally going change."

Even Angela is fighting E-Corp in her own way.

"I'll check in when I can." she moves past me, and I go up the steps to ward of any hugs she might try to give me, "Maybe...we can watch _Back To The Future 2_ next time?"

"Sure." I say, drily.

Looking uncertain, Angela nods her head and walks away.

Too hostile? Eh, probably. Angela is Elliot's bestie and that kinda irks me. Who do you think was his bestie first? Yeah, I realise that's petty as shit, but hell, I don't have a problem with her outside of that. Not everyone has the stomach to deal with the glorious mess that is Elliot, so Angela and I have at least one thing in common. Just, you know, don't expect me to be her bestie.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**How was work?**

 

**KING DICK**

**You mean after I sprayed my colleague?**

**What do you think?**

 

Ooh. Ah. That's unfortunate. I cackle for a good ten minutes before I can type out a reply.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**That's extra funny cuz of what I saved your number as.**

 

**KING DICK**

**Why? What did you save it as?**

 

I tell him.

 

**KING DICK**

**You're a child.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You're boring**

 

**KING DICK**

**I am never texting you again.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Sure you won't**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Tyrell?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You're not actually upset are you?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Come on.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Fine. Fuck, I changed it, okay?**

 

**T.W**

**That was fast**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Oh fuck you**  

 

I actually freaked for a second there. Jesus.

 

**T.W.**

**Consider us even?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Far from it ;)**

**Seriously though, if you're going to plot some**

**revenge against me you best make it entertaining.**

 

**T.W.**

**Sounds like you're asking for trouble.**

**Are you really that bored?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You know what they say about programmers.**

**If there isn't a problem to solve, we make one.**

 

Speaking of problems, it's been two weeks since Darlene and I had our little row. It's time to correct that social typo. That night, I head down to the arcade with a box of dark berry Strongbow in a carrier bag. I hammer my fist on the door and a few minutes later, Darlene opens the door, looking like she hadn't slept since I last saw her.

I hold up the Strongbow box. "Peace offering?"

She doesn't say anything, just twists and walks back into the arcade.

The place is a mess. The balls from the basket ball game are scattered about. The bins have been knocked over, paper and fried circuit boards everywhere. Even Pac-Man has been pushed over.

I whistle. "And you thought _I'd_  trash the place."

"Like brother, like sister." she mutters. She sits herself on the counter of my make-shift office and gestures to my book pile, "One of your books is overdue by the way. I don't get why you read that pretentious crap, but it's nice to know the source of your melodrama."

"Yeah, I meant to return those but..." I smile wryly, "didn't think I was welcome here."

She sighs. "You make me feel like shit, you know that?"

Wasn't exactly my intention. I backtrack, "I didn't mean..."

"No, you're right. You're grieving." she says, "I shouldn't have kicked you out no matter how pissed off I was. I'm sorry."

I cringe. "Don't apologise."

She looks at me cautiously, "Is that a 'I forgive you' kind of don't apologise or a 'I'm still pissed so don't bother' kind of don't apologise?"

"I was the asshole. Okay? Don't apologise because you don't need to."

She watches me for a moment, and then shakes her head. "I've still not gotten anywhere with Dark Army."

"That's because you need a break." I point at her eyes, "Santa must have come early, given the size of those sacks."

She knocks my hand away and grins, "You ass."

I dump the Strongbow on the air hockey table, and head back towards the exit, "You coming? I want a Bourbon."

"Fuck, yeah." she leaps off the counter and we head out together.

The bar we end up in is Mexican themed. Orange candle light flicker on stain glass windows, decorated with skeletons, and quiet guitar music plays in the background. There's karaoke stage too. Heh.

"Drinks on me." Darlene says, "Be right back."

I reach into my pocket for the burner phone. It buzzed earlier, but I didn't check because of Darlene. Imagine trying to explain this to her. She's like that randy - she'd throw a punch at any E-Corp employee, especially a higher-up like Tyrell Wellick. Tyrell isn't even old enough to be involved with the Washington Township leak that killed her dad.

 

**T.W.**

**I've given you a name on my phone.**

**Would you like to know what it is?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I'll bite.**

 

**T.W.**

**Earth-Angel**

 

I drop the phone.

Darlene frowns at me as she sits back down. "Why's your face red? What the hell are you doing?"

"I have an itch." I cough, reaching down for the phone. I manage to grab it and hide it on my lap. Meanwhile, Tyrell has sent another text.

 

**T.W.**

**I considered Robin Hood**   **but I'd already**

**used that for something else**

 

Darlene starts telling me about how sweet Trenton's parents are to let her stay over the past few days, about Trenton's snot-nosed little brother, Mohammad, who reminds her of me for some reason - I can't focus on all the details and text at the same time.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Used it for what?**

 

**T.W.**

**I was hacking a login and needed a nonsense**   **password.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**So that's what the 'Disney movie' thing**

**was about.**

 

 

**T.W.**

**I thought it would be more interesting that way**

**You were less suspicious than I thought you**

**would be. It took away some of the enjoyment**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**So you're a Sadist.**

**Whose login was it, anyway?**

 

**T.W.**

**A colleague of mine**

 

He sends me a link.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Yeah. Nice try. I'm not going to that link.**

 

**T.W.**

**That was supposed to be a photo.**

**What phone are you using?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**You didn't think I'd use my real phone did you?**

 

**T.W.**

**Should have known.**

**It was a photograph of of my colleague.**

**He's a nobody, I was just practising.**

 

**None of the information I used can**

**be traced back to you, right?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**What, do you think I'm an idiot?**

**Of course not.** **My passwords are**

**waay more secure than that.**

 

**T.W.**

**I expected nothing less.**

**Still, had to be sure.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Concerned about me?**

 

**T.W.**

**Yes.**

 

That makes me pause.

"Earth to Elliot!" Darlene waves her hand in front of my face, "Dude, I've been talking to you for, like, ten minutes."

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"While you were busy trying to hide that you're texting someone," She grins slyly, "I was saying that you should really hang out with everyone for once. I mean, I know you wanted this 'mysterious leader' persona, but they wouldn't be so freaked of you if you, you know, just sat with everyone once and a while. I even told Mobley that you had a dog and he got super excited - but I reckon he thinks you have a German Shepard or a Bulldog. You're way too skinny for a Bulldog, by the way. It would make it look like you're trying too hard. Anyway..."

I sip my bourbon and type a response to Tyrell with my other hand.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Yeah sure you are, Sadist.**

 

**T.W.**

" **Accept the one whose faith is weak,**

**without quarrelling over disputable matters."**

**(Romans 14:1)**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Did you just use a bible quote to insult me? smh**

 

**T.W.**

**Did you just use abbreviated slang? I'm also smh.**

 

Sarcasm thy name is Tyrell.

Prick.

"I'm gonna crash at Mobley's tonight by the way, in case you were worried about me or whatever." Darlene says, "His computer is so much faster than my laptop, it's unreal. Besides, just about outstayed my welcome at Trenton's - oh, she says thanks for the book report, by the way. I can't believe she went to you for that."

"Looks like my melodrama paid off."

Darlene snorts.

"Did you know she said she trusted me?"

Darlene raises her eyebrows, "I bet she was trying to butter you up." she grins, "The sneak. Definitely something she'd do."

I just hum into my drink.

We have a couple more drinks before Darlene has to meet Mobley, and I take the subway home. Talking with Darlene inspires me to take some action on Elliot's front. One day, when Elliot manages the full walk home from work, I decide to hell with the avoidance: He rounds the corner and I'm sat there on the staircase up to his apartment. He freezes, and after getting over his surprise, he pushes down his hood. He glances round, but we're alone.

"You here to bring me back?"  He tilts his head at me, "I've been monitoring the system. I saw the backups have been moved to five buildings."

"Yeah, certainly puts a pause on things." I huff, "The Dark Army are still giving us the silent treatment."

He eyes me, "Then why are you here?"

"I, uh, heard about what happened to your girl." I say, "Thought I'd stop by and remind you I ain't going anywhere, kiddo. A promise is a promise."

His lip twitches and he turns his face into his shoulder for a second to compose himself. He nods at me, jerky and awkward, and continues on his way up the stairs. He stops and turns again, "I've installed a patch in the AirDream network. We'll sync up all the five buildings and melt the backup discs at the same time."

That was Elliot for: I'm not breaking my promise either.

Elliot thinks he leaves me on the staircase. He doesn't see me standing over his shoulder while he installs the patch, doesn't know I see him hovering over that file 'Shayla Nico', about to delete it but deciding not to because he isn't ready yet, doesn't know I'm looking through his eyes when he lays back, tasting the cigarette in our mouth. He doesn't know when he drifts off either, accepting the sleep as a friend, and leaving me staring at his roof and finishing his cigarette so we don't burn the apartment down.

It's still light outside but the curtains are closed, making the apartment black. The light from the burner phone makes me squint. 

 

**T.W.**

**Have you given any thought to our plan?**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Our plan? Funny, I can't recall…**

 

**T.W.**

**Enough with the jokes.**

**I know you remember.**

 

So he does remember that afternoon. He's talking about what he said right before he kissed me – the two of us, working inside E-Corp, re-shaping it to benefit the world.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**What about it?**

 

**T.W.**

**I know you want E-Corp in ruins, but you**

**should reconsider.** **My arrangement**  

 **benefits** **us both.** **I can't have you destroy**

 **E-Corp while** **I'm competing for CTO** **and**

**I'd rather work with you.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Was that a threat?**

 

**T.W.**

**It doesn't have to be.**  

 

Well-played. 

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I thought you'd hit a wall with that CTO**

**business.** **Best just let me bring them** **down,**

**save you the trouble.**

 

**T.W.**

**And have me start again from the bottom?**

**I won't let that happen.**

**I need E-Corp. You need revenge.**

**My plan fulfils both of those.**

**Think about it, please.**

 

I sigh.

Thing is, if Darlene never gets the DA back, my revolution is sunk worse than Titanic. Tyrell's plan, with some adjustments, is a reasonable back-up. I'd get in E-Corp and pick apart the conglomerate from the inside. But that means deceiving Tyrell and destroying his company right under his nose. That's one hell of a betrayal. I ain't a fan of betrayal. Deception for the greater good, fine whatever, but betrayal is a no-go. And yeah, maybe I give a tiny bit of a shit about Tyrell. I'm talking tiny.

But E-Corp has to die. There isn't a world where Elliot is happy and E-Corp is still around. This thing between Tyrell and I, this friendship, whatever you want to call it, it's only a temporary stop - always has been. Tyrell thinks there's destiny between us, and he's right: we're destined to be enemies. It'll be much easier to tell him no now, rather than agree and betray him later.

But if I do that, I lose the backup plan and my survival strategy.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I'll think about it.**

 

Everything depends on Darlene and the Dark Army now. Whatever happens, I have to stick to what I was created for. Without purpose, I fade.


	8. User-1ntervent10n.

Elliot's pain finally eases into numbness. We feel like a drone, just going through the motions, our cogs ticking of their own accord. With him becoming more active, it's becoming harder for me to stick around, let alone keep hidden conversations with Tyrell. But this is typical – I know how to manage my time. Do what I do, and make sure Elliot does what he needs to do. Heck, I even make sure he gets to those stupid-ass therapy sessions on time. Really, the things I put up with for this kid.

Gideon gives Elliot time off work, which isn't helpful at all, and just has the kid smoking ten packs of cigarettes a day and drifting through the daylight hours, monitoring the patch he installed and doing little else. I'm free to meet Darlene at night.

"You might want to sit down." She says, typical Darlene, and pushes a newspaper towards me. I don't sit. I pick up the paper and read, and, yeah, it's bad. Because fsociety have been silent for so long, the media has taken the chance to wave the 'everybody keep calm' flag like the freaking end of the war parade. They're saying that our silence proves that we aren't a real threat. Bullshit.

We need Dark Army back. But I know they aren't going to talk - not unless we can get to their leader, Whiterose. My confidence doesn't convince Darlene, though. She doesn’t even believe the guy exists. True, I’ve never met him myself. But I have met his right-hand, a guy called Grant. He was a stiff one, let me tell ya.

Darlene gestures to a guy passed out on the bar, "For all we know, _this_ guy is Whiterose." She turns to the guy and calls out, "Excuse me!" she taps her fist on the bar, but the guy is out cold, "Are you Whiterose?"

Shaking my head, I look back at the newspaper. "I'm gonna talk to the others tomorrow." I say, "Fsociety need to create some noise, get the media fearing us again."

"Best of luck." Darlene drones. Then she sighs, "What if Dark Army never come back?"

"That's the alcohol talking."

"Seriously though." She huffs, "Look, you know I want this for you. Okay? But..." She's freaking out. I don't like it when people freak out.

I lean back on the counter. "What if I told you I have a backup plan?"

"No more Whiterose shit..."

"No, no. Come on." I take the bottle of cider from her hand and put it down on the bar, "I mean, an actual backup plan for if the Dark Army well and truly bailed."

She eyes me. "China has half the data, you can't wipe their records without them - unless you have an air-plane at the ready, I really don't see how there's a back-up."

"So, some adjustments are needed." I shrug, "But if we had to start over..."

"This isn't the sort of thing you can just 'start over'." She snorts, "I mean, come on. We hit the point of no return the minute we started this - and you know it too. But I appreciate the gesture." She smiles as she slides off the stool, "You trying to cheer me up, it's nice, but we both know I'm going to feel like a pretty shitty hacker if I don't do this. So - if you have a plan, whatever, that's cool, but I am not about to back down from this."

“Here, here!” I swig Darlene's cider and grimace. "That's disgusting."

Darlene smiles, "I'm gonna crash at the arcade tonight if that's cool?"

"There's a blanket behind the counter."

She stares at me.

I bet she was waiting for me to invite her to stay at the apartment, now that we've made up and all, but with Elliot the way he is, I can't risk that. "I don't mean to be a jerk..."

"It's cool." She smiles, "I get it. 'Sides I don't want your dog shitting on me. I ain't going near that thing until you get a clicker."

There she goes again, resorting to sharp remarks to hide her feelings. We're alike in that way - helps me kid myself into thinking I am her father. Or brother. Like it makes a difference.

"Why ruin an effective guard dog?" I say.

Darlene huffs. “Okay, I get the picture. See you later, yeah? Tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Whether that’s me or Elliot remains to be seen.

* * *

  _"The look on your face – priceless!" “Goddamn lunatic!”_

* * *

I'm walking along the street after re-recruiting Romero. I got him back with the help of a gun, but hell, I wasn't going to shoot him. That would have been counter-productive, no? He called the revolution 'wasted shit' and I got defensive because it feels like he's right.

I tried to recruit Trenton earlier, at her college, but she turned me down. Sure, I could have brought Romero’s gun and done it that way, but it’s _Trenton_. I had to be gentle. Besides, I couldn’t bring myself to be stern, because she said she trusted me. It may have been bullshit, I’ll never know, but I didn’t want to ruin it either way. A little trust goes a long way, ya know? Still, I’m kinda baffled she turned me down, but Darlene said she’ll talk to her instead. A little girl-talk might work. Besides, Trenton always liked Darlene.

The only one who’s in is Mobley, but he was never out in the first place.

All-in-all, it’s been a pretty shit day, so I'm pleased to see a text from Tyrell waiting.

 

**T.W.**

**I fired three men today.**

 

**UNKNOWN**

**How come?**

 

**T.W.**

**They were scumbags.**

**I think you're rubbing off on me.**

 

Huh. A few minutes ago, I told Romero that rejecting the revolution was a waste of his potential.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I think you're rubbing off on me too**

**T.W.**

**That’s good.**

**It means you’re thinking about me.**

**UNKNOWN**

**Take it however you want.**

**T.W.**

**Elizabeth thinks I was too rash** **to fire them.**

**Thoughts?**

 

I don't know who the fuck Elizabeth is, but I ignore that. 

 

**UNKNOWN**

**I think you’re a regular office tyrant**

**who fires people whenever he likes.**

**Or am I wrong?**

**T.W.**

**I confess I haven’t exactly been**

**in the best mood lately.**

**UNKNOWN**

**How come?**

**T.W.**

**Concerned about me?**

**UNKNOWN**

**If that’s what you want to call it.**

**T.W.**

**Evasive as always.**

**UNKNOWN**

**I try my best.**

**Now, spill.**

**T.W.**

**I’m attending a diner party tonight.**

**UNKNOWN**

**Fancy.**

**T.W**

**Hardly.**

**Everyone there is exceptionally dull.**

**Makes me want to blow my brains out.**

**Or someone else’s.**

 

I’m too busy grinning that I don’t notice some asshole cab driver nearly hit me. He honks, and I give him the middle-finger. “I’m walking here!” I yell, and then chuckle to myself as I jog to the other end of the road.

**UNKNOWN**

**Can’t you weasel out of it?**

**T.W.**

**That’s my other concern.**

**I need to be there for work.**

**UNKNOWN**

**Screw work.**

**T.W.**

**I can’t. My wife and I have**

**been planning this for months.**

**There are certain actions I**

**must take, and I won’t get**

**another opportunity.**

**UNKNOWN**

**Pressure is on, I take it?**

**T.W.**

**That’s somewhat of an** **understatement.**

**UNKNOWN**

**And the missus won’t be happy if you fluff it?**

**T.W.**

**Certainly not.**

**UNKNOWN**

**No wonder you’re stressed.**

**I hear acupuncture is good for that.**

**I’d be happy to stick needles in you.**

**T.W.**

**Charmed, but I think I’ll be alright.**

**UNKNOWN**

**Can’t blame me for trying.**

**T.W.**

**Another thing: if tonight goes to plan,**

**I’ll be on my way to becoming CTO.**

**My offer to you still stands,**

**if you’ve given any thought to it?**

 

Figured he’d bring that up eventually.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Keep me updated.**

**T.W.**

**Honestly, I’d prefer it if you were with me.**

**You’re more interesting than anyone else**

**whose going to be there.**

**UNKNOWN**

**I’m flattered.**

**T.W**

**I don’t suppose you’re**

**doing anything tonight?**

**I could do with a distraction.**

 

‘Distraction’ huh. Funny how quickly that became a code between us.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Why, think you could get me in**

**as your plus-one?**

**T.W.**

**Not exactly.**

**My wife has taken that position.**

**But I could slip outside for a few minutes**

**without raising suspicion.**

**Will you be there?**

 

I type **No** and then delete it. My gut instinct is to refuse: I made a deal with myself that I wouldn’t see him, and outside of that, it’s a bad idea. There’s too much risk in seeing him. What if Elliot wakes up while I’m there? What if he wakes up beforehand and I don’t get there at all? It’s a blunder waiting to happen.

But it’s alluring. Like the temptation to steal, or hack, or set things on fire. Everyone’s thought about it. Part of me wants to – part of me wants Elliot to catch me. But we all know where that will lead. Back to the meds and another few years of lost time, until he forgets I exist, or stops the meds, and I come back again, if I come back at all. That isn’t something I can risk, with all the work I’ve done this year.

But Tyrell… I’m got gonna lie, I miss the guy.

I sigh, jamming the burner phone in my pocket and swapping it with a cigarette and a lighter. I walk down into the subway, ignoring the no-smoking signs, and take a drag. Slouching on a bench, I wait for the next train to Coney Island.

I rub a greasy fingerprint off the burner phone screen and contemplate Tyrell’s text. Weighing the pros and cons is a little pointless, since they all pretty much fall on the ‘con’ side. I have every reason not to go.

Except that I really, _really_ want to, and I'm self-aware enough to know why: Tyrell is _mine_. These texts, our code, our quotes, and our literature talks – they all belong to me. Not Elliot. Tyrell may know Elliot, may think of me as Elliot, but Elliot barely knows him. They’ve met, what, three times? Pretty sure that qualifies _me_ as the rightful owner of this friendship. I don’t have to share, and I wanna indulge in that a little longer, and delay the inevitable moment this goes to shit.

Even though I always intended to share fsociety with Elliot once he was ready for it, it kinda sucks that it’s no longer mine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Elliot is in on this. I’ve missed interacting with him, but I miss having the arcade to myself too. Call me sentimental, I guess.

Point is, a five-minute chat isn’t asking for much. Elliot has been in sleep-mode all day, and I can always make up an excuse if he suddenly decides to wake up.

And Tyrell? I don’t have to worry about his advances if his wife is going to be there too. Even then, if he tries anything, it ain’t my fault – and if I don’t stop him, well…that’s something else. Just kidding, of course. As much as I don’t mind, I won’t let him touch us while Elliot is clocked out. Besides, Tyrell has been helping me out this past month. It doesn’t sit right with me to have a debt like that looming.

I type out my reply as I step onto my train and sit down.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Sure, I’ll be there.**

**I owe you.**

**T.W.**

**For what, exactly?**

 

For being such a relentless, needy zealot whose kept me around this long.

 

**UNKNOWN**

**Forget it, it’s not important.**

**When am I crashing this party?**

**T.W.**

**It starts at 6.00 at E-Corp.**

**9.00 good for you?**

**I’ll need a few hours to mingle**

**and begin my work.**

**UNKNOWN**

**Just try not to kill anyone in the meantime.**

A 40-minute journey later, I get off the subway at Coney Island and make the long trek to the arcade. I knock, but no one answers, and when I go in, I see that I’ve got the place to myself. I turn on the switches – the lights come on first, followed by the games, and the popcorn machine.

I wipe the phone, delete the messages, and switch it off like I usually do. There’s a bucket of broken console pieces under the counter of my make-shift office, and I stash it right at the very bottom. I’ve been doing that ever since Elliot was given time off work. It’s become too risky to keep the phone in the apartment.

The buttery smell of cooking popcorn fills the arcade. I breathe it in and sigh, flopping down in my seat and putting my feet up on the counter. The sound of popping helps me relax.

I check the clock. It’s 5.39pm. Tyrell will be getting ready for that dinner party right about now, but I got a few hours to kill before I’m supposed to be there.

Damn it. I left _Monte Cristo_ at the apartment. I reach under the counter and pull out my stack. _Crime and Punishment_ sits on the top, and it reminds me that Tyrell was asking about it.

“‘Valuable opinion.’” I chuckle, “The sap.”

I flick to the first chapter. After reading three chapters, I check the clock again.

6.30pm.

It shouldn’t be this agonising to wait.

I dog-ear the page I’m up to and stand to stretch my legs. I head to the shops to re-stock on cigarettes and twinkies and by the time I get back, Romero is in the arcade, typing at a terminal, like he’s been there the whole time. He eyes me. I give him a two-fingered salute, which he ignores.

I dump the twinkies on the counter and slump down in my seat.

Romero watches me.

I pick up _Crime and Punishment_ and open it. I slide my thumb down a page, mumble appreciatively, and turn it – even though I’m only looking at the contents page. “So,” I say, “We gonna sit in silence like this or are we good?”

“Oh, I’d say we’re good.”

I nod my head approvingly and turn to the place I left off.

Romero’s fold-up chair creaks as he stands. He steps up to me. “Especially since I found this.”

I look up.

Romero is holding the burner phone. “This was in that bucket of consoles under your desk.” He says.

Okay. Play it cool.

“Well, I’ll ignore that complete invasion of privacy on account that I invaded your home. I guess that does make us ‘good.’ Cute.” I slam the book shut, and gesture to the phone with my finger, “Didn’t take you for dumpster-diving though.”

“Funny man.” Romero looks at the phone, “I checked it over. It’s clean for recording and tracking software, but I figured you already knew that.”

I spread my hands. “Just what are you trying to say?”

“It’s not hard to figure out what TW stands for.” He steps past the counter, into my space, “And before you go denying it, you’re the only one whose met the mother fucker. Should have something was screwy at Steel Mountain – how long have you been hiding this?”

I grab my cup off the counter, because I need something to stop me lashing out, and turn to the water boiler to fill it. “So, you find a phone with a number and the initials TW and – what? What exactly are you accusing me of? Don’t be coy now, Romero, you’ve already pushed my buttons today.”

“You’ve been talking to him. Tyrell Wellick. One of the guys we’re trying to take down.”

I turn to him, slurping my drink. “So, we exchanged a few words – what’s the big deal? I work at AllSafe, remember? The guy’s a business client. I gotta play nice to keep my cover.”

“Yeah right.” He huffs, folding his arms, “If me, Mobley or Trenton did that, you’d accuse us of being turncoats. Or sell-outs.”

“The things I’ve gotta do,” I put my hand on my chest, “it’s hard for me.”

“Bullshit.” He says, “Think I’m stupid, man? You’re a tech, you don’t need to entertain clients – especially over goddamn text – so why don’t you try again?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You need to calm down.”

“I swear if you pull that ‘calm down’ shit on me…”

“You’re over-reacting!” I’m shouting now.

Romero notices. “Really.” He drones, and dammit, it’s like we’re back at his house, arguing over the project like we were this afternoon. “Because it sounds like you’re desperate to hide something.” He looks at the burner phone, “I mean, why else would you go to this much effort to hide it? Though, I gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed. Hiding it here, it’s like you wanted to be caught.”

He puts the phone in his back pocket.

The sudden hot possession I feel over that phone has my fingers twitching.

Romero checks his wrist watch. “Mobley’s train would have arrived a while back. I give it a couple of minutes before he’s here. Maybe then you can explain why you’re chumie with Tyrell Wellick.”

“I ain’t ‘chumie’ with Wellick.”

“Oh? Could have fooled me.”

“Don’t play the sarcastic game with me, Romero, you know you’ll lose.”

The door opens and Mobley steps into view a few seconds later. “Hey guys, I knocked but I don’t think you…” he pauses, seeing us in my office, and chuckles, “Are mom and dad fighting again?”

Romero flares his nostrils and steps out my office and toward Mobley.

Mobley watches us as he puts down his laptop bag.

I watch Romero.

Romero folds his arms. “You want to tell him, or should I?”

I don’t say anything.

“What’s going on?” Mobley panics, “Have we been bugged?”

Romero mutters, “We may as well have.”

“Nobody’s been bugged!” I glare at Romero, “It was safe, I made sure of it – you saw for yourself, it’s clean!”

Romero shakes his head, “Unbelievable.”

Mobley looks between us, “Anyone want to explain?!” his voice goes high in his hysterics.

“Turns out our mysterious leader is in kahoots with E-Corp.” Romero says, “Or is there another story?”

I breathe deeply, looking at Mobley, “Look, I’ve been talking a little one-on-one with Tyrell Wellick, but it’s _not what you think_. He wants me to work for him, and I said no. He’s been trying to convince me otherwise ever since.”

Mobley looks between me and Romero, “And what’s this about something being clean or not?”

Romero holds up the burner phone. “He hid this here.”

“Boss, that’s…”

“It’s safe!” I gesture to Romero, “He even checked! Look, after I turned Wellick down, he gave me his number in case I changed my mind. I figured ‘Hey. Let’s have a little fun.’ He doesn’t even know it’s me.”

Mobley relaxes, “Oh. Okay, boss.”

Romero shoots him a look.

“I mean, it’s clean, right?” Mobley adds in a rush, “You said it was clean…”

“As a whistle.” I wink.

Mobley looks at Romero and shrugs, as if to say 'that's good enough for me.' I was hoping that would be enough to convince Romero to drop it.

But Romero says, “Then you won’t mind me telling Darlene?”

Hells yeah. Darlene would flip.

“Oh, come o –" I sigh, "Mobley, help me out here!”

Mobley looks between us, hands in the air. “I respect both of you guys. You say it was safe, boss, and I believe you. And, Rome, totally respect your paranoia but…”

Romero is shaking his head. “Come on, Mobe, he’s _playing_ you. He’s been playing all of us!” he stabs his finger at my face, “Why the hell would you put us at risk like this for nothing?”

I can’t believe I have to repeat myself. “There. Was. No. Risk!”

“There’s _always_ a risk! Every hacker knows that!”

“Come on – it’s _me_. Do you really think I’d do this if there was that much risk?”

“Honestly,” Romero says, “I reckon you’d dump all our asses if something better came along. And I know hackers don’t trust people by nature, but you’ve been holding back from us from since the day we met, like you’re prepping yourself to jump ship and move on.”

He’s not wrong, and I don’t bother denying it.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if Mister TW offered you something better and you _jumped_ for it. I always knew you had barely any principles, but I would have at least expected you to stick like glue to the ones you _did_ have.”

“Are you calling me a sell-out?” I hear Mobley breathe a sharp ‘oh shit’ as I step into Romero’s space. I curl my fingers into a fist. “You might want to rethink that statement.”

“Or what?” Romero says, “You gonna pull another gun on me?”

Mobley double-takes. “What?!”

Romero sneers, “I don’t care why you did it, or what you thought you could get out of it. Hell, you can risk your own damn life all you want – you and your project can go to hell for all I care-” he leans into my space, “-but you gots these _kids_ in this! I won’t forgive you for putting them at risk.”

I'm about three seconds from punching him.

The door slams open, making us jump.

“Guys! Elliot!” Darlene flies into the room, straight at me, and grips my forearms, “We got a meet with Whiterose!”


	9. pl4n-8ack-0n.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Claustrophobia, referenced child abuse.

Before Elliot worked at AllSafe, he worked at a small tech company where his job was to hack until the company was un-hackable. Pretty cool gig, if you ask me, and Elliot loved it. It was perfect for him. The only problem? The kid was way too good for those slackers. He could hack anything they threw at him. One day, on some holiday or other, who cares about the details, Elliot was up hacking but everyone else wanted to go home. So, they locked him in the server room. Hours past, Elliot fell asleep – I woke up.

I didn’t know what had happened, or why we were there. I figured Elliot, typically, dozed off at work and needed walking home. It wasn’t the first or the last time, and I was happy to do it for him because it meant I got an evening out, undercover.

But when I tried the door, it didn’t open. I figured it was an office prank, no harm intended, but I was miffed. I hammered my fist on the door. “Very funny, you guys! Open up!”

No answer.

I pressed my face against the glass, cupping my eyes. It was dark out there. I couldn’t see a damn thing. I hammered on the door harder. “Come on! Open the damn door already!”

Elliot didn’t carry a lock-pick on him back then, so there was no way I was getting out from the inside. Spoiler alert, but I made sure he carried a lock-pick from then on.

I checked our phone for the time. It was 2.45 in the morning - not the time people would be hanging around the office. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. _I don’t spend all my time battling for control be trapped in a fucking box!_ I launched myself at door, “Open the FUCKING DOOR!”

I knew it was pointless. No one was out there. No one was coming. There was no way out.

I clenched my teeth. “Shit.”

Suddenly, Elliot’s phone buzzed. It was an email from one of the guys.

_@EAlderson_

_See you in the morning! :)_

“Those fuckers…” I whispered. After that, my breathing went completely out of whack. Short, rough, and fast, better at making noise than providing me some damn oxygen. It was like I was dying or some shit. It was fucked up! 

 _See you in the morning?!_ I bared my teeth, “Wait ‘til you see _this._ ”

I tore out wires, pulled servers from their racks and smashed them on the floor, kicked them across the room, and threw them against the walls. It was a wave of destruction. I had _all_ night, and I wasn’t stopping. I _couldn't_ stop. It was too damn cramped in that room and I needed to clear a little space. There were 100 servers and I destroyed them all.

When they were all scattered around me in little pieces, instead of stacked up in those damn racks like the walls of a freaking maze, I calmed down a little. Exhausted, shaking, I pressed my back against the door and slid down to the floor. I sighed and closed my eyes.

Naturally, Elliot was fired and sent to court, but when he said he couldn’t remember what he did, he was sent to therapy instead of jail. To be _cured_. Fuck that. But as much as I hate Krista and those dumb sessions Elliot has to waste our time on, I can't lie and say it wasn't my fault he had to go. Still, I don't regret smashing the shit out of that room. Pricks should have known better than to lock me up.

Anyway, what was the point of that little stroll down memory lane? This isn't the first time I've let things slip out of control and suffered the consequences. Whiterose, Tyrell, Romero, Darlene – all those damn variables are locked around me.

But, unlike Elliot, I'm actually prepared to accept the consequences.

Now, I’m standing in the narrow alley by the arcade door, and it is well past mid-night. In the distance, the theme park music plays and there’s screaming from the kids on the bigger rides. I take a long drag of my cigarette, tip my head back, and breathe it out. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve long missed my rendezvous with Tyrell – but, hell, maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, agreeing to that shit. I should have dumped the damn phone the second Elliot started being active again, just like I planned from the beginning. I shouldn't have stashed it in the arcade, and I sure as hell shouldn't have agreed to meet the poor bastard tonight. I opened a vulnerability, and Romero exploited the shit out of it. I won’t be making that mistake again.

The door screeches, and I open my eyes to see Romero stepping out with an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

“Got a light?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course, I’ve got a fucking light.” I pull my lighter out of my pocket and toss it to him.

It bounces off his jacket and lands on the ground with a clatter.

“Smooth.” I snort.

Romero huffs, “You’re a full-time asshole, aren’t you?” he crouches and swipes the lighter. Cupping his hand in front of his face, he lights the cigarette. He steps up to me to give me back the lighter and takes his cigarette out of his mouth. “Guess we should talk.”

I eye him, snatching the lighter and stuffing it back in my pocket. I take a few steps back until I'm leaning against the wall.

“Why didn’t you tell Darlene?”

“Thought it best not to kill the mood.” He shrugs, “Plus, I was thinking about how good it feels to have something to hold over you.”

I tap the ashes off my cigarette and look at it like it holds all my interest. “Anyone ever tell you that you hold one hell of a grudge?”

“You put a gun in my face.”

“I was having a laugh!”

“Not the way I see it.”

“I wouldn’t have shot you!” I say, “Come on, dude, I love you man, you know that.”

“You keep saying that.” he mutters, “You gotta funny way of showing it.”

“You really think I could shoot you?”

Not sure what I expected him to say, or if I was going to be happy with the answer either way, but he just shrugs. “I don’t know.” He says, “All I know is that I sure as hell don’t trust you.”

I hesitate. Darlene said that I should sit with the guys once in a while, drop the persona, and have a few laughs – I can’t help but wonder if this would have happened if I’d done that.

Who am I kidding? Trust is just another means of exploitation, of fucking someone over, just like that night we got locked in the server room. Trust is for morons.

“…I’m not asking you to trust me.”

“Good, ‘cos I won’t.” he says bluntly before bringing the cigarette to his lips again.

“So, what? You wanted out – is this it, you’re walking out now? All because of this phone shit?”

Romero looks at the ground.

I push off from the wall and step closer to him. “We’ve got _Whiterose_. The myth, the legend – and we’ve _got_ him. You walk now, you gotta live with missing out on that.”

He glares at me. “You think I give a shit?”

“I _know_ you do.”

"Hmph." he says, "Well, you're in luck because I’m gonna do the job you asked me to. Don't make no mistake - I'm not doing this for you, or Whiterose, or anyone. I'm doing this for me. For what you promised this project would bring. But remember we both have dirt on each other now. You threaten me again – hell, if I so much as see you within a fucking _mile_ of my home – I’ll blow the lid off your secret affair.”

“Fair enough.” I take another sip of smoke. “We good then?”

He grunts.

I spread my heads, “I ain’t leaving this unfinished. Are we good or not?”

He shifts one foot to the other and tilts his head, looking at me from the side. “You still want to do this, then?”

I narrow my eyes, “What the hell kind of question is that?”

A question he doesn’t let me dodge. He was always good at pushing my buttons. I respect that about him.

"You have no doubts about this at all?”

“Why? Because of Wellick?” I scoff, “Please! He’s nothing. Like I said, fun and games. That’s all.”

Romero hums. Holding his cigarette in his lips, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out the burner phone. He pushes it into my hand and draws his face up to mine, so I can feel the cigarette flame right by my skin. Any closer and he’ll burn me, but I don’t flinch. Elliot and I had endured worse than cigarette burns. If Romero wants to intimidate me, he's gonna have to try harder than that.

“ _Prove_ it.”

He leans away, watching my expression.

Snorting, I throw my cigarette to the side and sneer at him. “Okay!” Holding his stare, I throw the phone to the ground and stamp my foot on it, again and again, only looking down to see that I’m hitting it. I put all my anger at Romero into each stomp. I hear and see the phone crack, feel it splinter, and I don’t stop until it’s in pieces. Bits of plastic fly everywhere.

I take a deep breath. I light another cigarette to calm me down. My voice is hoarse, but I blame it on the smoke. “We good?”

He hums. “Good enough, I guess.” He takes another drag and puts out his cigarette on the wall. He lets it fall to the ground. “Well, I’m gonna rest up. Big shit is coming our way tomorrow.”

I hum in agreement, but my mind is on the phone. “Outta curiosity,” I drone, breathing out smoke, “Did you get any messages while you had that phone?”

Romero chuckles cruelly. “‘Outta curiosity.’ You keep telling yourself that, cause your damn poker face doesn’t work on me.” He grinds the cigarette under his boot, “There was just one – ‘I’m waiting.’ What’s he waiting for, exactly?”

I press my lips together. “No idea.”

“Sure.” He mutters, “Whatever you say.”

I wisely keep my mouth shut.

Romero walks down the alley and through the door onto the main street, leaving me alone. I look down at the broken remnants of the phone. I crouch and pick up what’s left of the screen – it has a huge scar down the middle.

Damn Romero. Damn everything!

"Argh!" I yell and hurl the screen at the wall.

_Fuck._

* * *

" _You hack people. I hack time."_

* * *

Elliot meets Whiterose, 2.00pm sharp. Darlene tried to get him to take a gun, but that wasn’t going to happen. I'm not online for any of the meet and it's around 4.30 pm that same day by the time I fight my way into consciousness. At least I don't have to worry about him discovering the phone anymore, but I was one hell of a grouch before he went to the meet.

I appear next to Elliot as he walks along the New York streets. He jumps when he notices me.

I hold up my hands, "Sorry, kiddo." I jerk my thumb at some building behind me, "Was just in there, waiting for you. How'd it go?"

He tells me everything. First, Whiterose is a lady. Second, she has a real boner for efficiency. She gave Elliot three minutes to talk and scolded him every time he said something she thought was a waste of time. It's a good thing I wasn't there. I would have smashed her face in.

“Bitch sure messes around when it suits her.” I murmur.

"We have 49 hours and 20 minutes left before Whiterose wants the hack done." He goes on. He looks at the curb. "I couldn't find out anything more, I'm sorry. I was…I didn’t do it right.”

I steer us into an empty alley. "Hey, kid. Come on. Don't beat yourself up." I tell him, "You did great and I'm proud of you."

"There was something about her...Something dark." Elliot murmurs, more to himself than me. He glares at the ground. "She bugged me."

Elliot has a gift for recognising shady shit. That's why I need him. If he says something is up with Whiterose, with Dark Army, then he's probably right.

But all I can think about are those days I missed when Elliot was grieving, and I faded away – the reason I reached out to Tyrell in the first place. This revolution means more than bringing Elliot and I peace - it's my foundation, my sun that I orbit, the ultimate focal point of my existence. It means too much to me to let it go, no matter how dirty Whiterose is. I _need_ this. Without it, I don’t exist. This revolution has to happen, by any means necessary.

"We'll deal with it later." I say.

Elliot stares at me incredulously. "But we don't know what she wants!” he says, "She has to be using us for something!"

"We'll deal with it as it comes." I insist, “Let’s just get back to the arcade and tell the others.”

I shove my hands in my pockets and we walk to the subway together. When we get to the arcade, Elliot hangs in the background, still stressed from his encounter with Whiterose. He doesn’t handle social situations well, even the mild ones, so Whiterose has stirred him up badly. I take control and explain everything to the others. He's grateful for it. I wonder if he would be if he knew what's actually going on, that he's not stood in silence by the popcorn machine, like he thinks.

"So, this is it, then?" Mobley says when I’m done, "It's really happening?"

Mobley hasn’t looked me in the face since Romero busted me, Romero gives me the same distrusting look he always has, and Trenton keeps looking at me when she thinks I can’t see. It’s safe to assume she knows about Tyrell. It’s just Darlene who doesn’t, otherwise she would have called me out on it by now, so I act like nothing is wrong.

I grin, "In 48 hours, we will have set in motion the largest revolution the world has ever seen. You guys know what to do.”

They look apprehensive. What's that about? Because of Tyrell? This is the greatest thing! A year of work finally coming together. They can't let one hiccup like that get in the way of this moment. Miserable bastards, the lot of them. Slowly, they gather up their things and head off. Romero waits for Mobley and they head out together. Trenton stops next to me on her way out.

“I’m sorry about your phone.” At my stare, she quickly adds, “I found the pieces outside, and Mobley told me the rest.” She clasps her hands in front of her, “You know, if you needed someone to talk to, it could have been any of us.”

At this, Elliot perks his head up.

“Get to work, Trenton.” I say sharply. I ignore her frown and move to the water dispenser. When I glance round, she’s gone.

Elliot shifts and walks up to me.

Darlene slides off the hockey table and grabs her jacket. She pulls it on and looks at us over her shoulder. "You're meeting me later, right?" she says. "9.00 at the pier?"

Elliot pauses, digests the question, and then slowly nods, "S-sure."

Darlene turns to head out, and I call, "What did you do with that gun?"

She shrugs. "Buried it deep."

I glance at the popcorn machine. She hit it there. That's what 'buried it deep' means.

Darlene leaves, and Elliot turns to me, "What does that mean? She got rid of it?"

"She stashed it." I say, and Elliot frowns, "She went to the trouble of getting it, we should keep it around just in case."

I start up _Asteroids_ and start playing. As I blow up little animated asteroids and alien spacecrafts, Elliot steps up beside me. He tilts his head, "Why didn’t Whiterose meet with you?" he motions to the door Darlene just walked through, “Even Darlene said they wanted me. Why’s that? What have you been saying about me?”

“You handled Steel Mountain, didn’t you?” I say, “Of course they wanted you. Besides, you’re the new guy. It's, uh, their way of breaking you in."

“Is that really the reason?”

On the game, I dodge a large asteroid and shoot a red alien ship. “What are you getting at, son?”

Silence.

And then:

“What’s your name?”

My hand slips. My ship crashes into an asteroid and GAME OVER flashes onto the screen. I point accusingly. “This game is rigged!”

“Hey, man.” Elliot says quietly, “We’ve been doing this for months now, and you haven’t told me your name.”

I reset the game. “Not figured it out for yourself, yet?” I smash the buttons. It’s been months, like he said, but he hasn’t remembered me. I’ve been so close to telling him a few times. During that fiasco with Shayla, I was so close to blurting it out. _You can’t see the truth, even when it’s staring you right in the face._ It pisses me off.

Elliot watches my hands. He recoils, barely noticeable, but I see it. _“Why is he mad?”_ he thinks, _“Did I let him down after all? Whiterose was right. I am a disappointment.”_

Whiterose said that? Well, fuck her. I look at him sharply, and he flinches. I hesitate – I can’t exactly tell him to hush-up on those bullshit thoughts. Talk about creepy.

“Tell you what.” I say instead, “If you haven’t figured me out by the time the hack is done, I’ll tell you who I am.” I grin, “How does that sound?”

He isn’t reassured, still thinking that he’d let me down, let fsociety down. “Sure.” He says, “Sounds good.” He steps away.

I grab his arm.

He tenses.

Yeah, that may have been a little rough. I let go again, raising my hands. I gesture to the console. “You play games, Elliot?”

He doesn’t, but he doesn’t mention it. I put my hand on his back and ease him to a console. We start with the bowling game.

I take the first bowl. “Nice and easy approach. Nothing to it, kiddo.” I roll the ball into the gutter and Elliot huffs.

“Too bad, old man.”

"Old man?" I toss the ball in the air and catch it, "I take offence to that."

We worked our way around the arcade for an hour or so before I could feel Elliot starting to get bored. Not surprising, since we naturally drew every game we played.

“What are the odds!” I affectionately smack Elliot on the shoulder.

Elliot wants to go home, but I want to stay just a little longer, so I ease us over to the popcorn machine. Elliot pictures himself on the route home, and I let him take that fantasy into memory before I flip the switch and take control entirely.

Now it’s just me and the arcade.

The electrical wires hum quietly, the neon lights buzz like little insects, and the popcorn taps against the glass as it cooks. I close my eyes and let it all wash over me. After the hack, after the world changes forever, this old place will be nothing, like it was before we took occupancy. There's a year of memories here and, for once, they're nearly all mine. There was the time Darlene wrote the rootkit, and Trenton bought halal barbecue - one of the few times I actually saw that girl celebrate. Then there was the time, on a whim, Mobley set up that god-awful DJ mix track, but we got blitzed drunk that night so none of us gave a damn. I used to sit in my office and read, listening to the clatter of keyboards and quiet chatter from the others. After 47 hours, that'll all come to an end.

_Soon, Elliot. Soon, we'll be at peace._

It's starting to go dark when I finally decide to slip out. The sky is computer blue and clouds are swirling. I think about going on a quick loop on the Ferris wheel before I go back into the void again - but then something catches my eye.

There’s a black SUV parked by the fair ground.


	10. f1gure-0f-sp33ch.

That damn car, parked by Steeplechase, is just a corner's turn away from the arcade. From  _everything._

I freeze, slap-bang in the middle of the road like an idiot. First Romero, now _this?_ I'd feel less exposed if I was stripped naked and pushed in the way of an oncoming truck!

I glance at the opposite street. I'm a good distance from the car. Tyrell probably hasn't seen me. I could sneak away, find a crowd, lose him, and then double back to the subway before Elliot wakes up.

"Sir." says a flat voice.

That slippery bastard.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before I turn to Sutherland. I must have walked right past him, too busy busying looking at the ferris wheel to mind my surroundings.

"Fancy seeing you here, jeeves!"  I sneer, not bothering to hide my contempt. He and I both know the drill by now. Him standing by the ATM, acting like he isn't on kidnapping-duty, doesn't fool me for a second. But that doesn't stop me from playing ball. "Your boss finally give you a day off? About time, all that scowling has given you wrinkles."

His scowl flattens, self-consciously, and I smirk.

"Mr Wellick wishes to speak with you." he motions to the SUV, "If you please, Mr Alderson."

"I don't have time for this."

"Mr Wellick insists."

"Mr Wellick can eat a dick."

Sutherland's lip twitches at that, but I can't tell if it's from amusement or irritation. "I'm afraid I can't take no for an answer. If you don't comply, I _will_ resort to force."

 _Like he'd dare._ I scoff, raising my chin.

He whips forward. Fists clench the front of my hoodie and yank me forward so hard I hear stitches breaking.

"Whoa, hey!" I raise my hands, "Alright, I get it! Jeez! _"_

He shakes me once before letting go. One hand moves to my arm and the other outward, guiding, "If you please,  _sir."_ he reiterates, "I advise you not to keep him waiting. He's not in a good mood today."

"Let me guess, he's in a 'put on the latex gloves' kind of mood."

Again, Sutherland's lip twitches. "To put it mildly. Now..." he gestures again, pressing his hand into my arm.

With a grunt, I shrug his hand away and start walking.

As I draw closer to the SUV, I feel humming anticipation. I didn't expect to see him so soon, so close to the arcade and at the most inconvenient time. To say I'm on edge is an understatement.

I breathe slow and deep, reasoning: I can make a convenience of this inconvenience. Undo my mistake. Hit backspace on my vulnerability - delete  _Wellick._

When I reach the car, I rap my knuckles on the back window. There's a purposeful pause, like Wellick is trying to communicate the silent treatment via a _window_ , but it eventually slides open.

I’m not prepared for the anxiety that rushes through me when I see him. He doesn’t look different to what I’m used to: perfect hair, suit, and a blue tie to match his eyes. He doesn’t look at me, instead keeping his eyes fixed ahead, his face half-covered in shadow. His jaw is tight.

Suddenly, I feel muddled - my slick resolve flinching back against the damn _emotion_ just seeing his face again gives me. It's been just over a month since I last saw him, outside that bar when -

_Tyrell angles my face, so he can lick his way in deeper._

\- my face heats up and I look away, jerky and awkward. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

“We need to talk.”

“How did you know I was here?”

"I followed you from AllSafe."

I snort, indignantly, and look at him. "Congratulations, you've graduated to a grade-A stalker. All that practise is paying off.”

His eyes flick in my general direction and away again. He grinds his jaw. "You weren't answering your phone. I had to resort to something a little more drastic."

“For you this is hardly drastic, now let’s be honest.”

“Well, I had hoped to speak with you sooner - last _night_ , to be exact.”

Ignoring the unease in my gut, I move to the opposite side of the car and get inside. It’s time to do what I couldn’t do the last time we saw each other. Rip off the band-aid. Cauterise the wound. This will be better in the long run. 47 hours from now, it won't matter. Once the revolution starts, I'll be too busy laughing at panicking politicians to think about Wellick.

I shrug. "You wanna talk? Let's talk."

Sutherland slides into the driver's seat. "Where to, Mr Wellick?"

"Just wait here a moment." Wellick says.

Sutherland nods once and switches off the engine, letting the car lapse into silence. He watches my reflection in the rear-view mirror. He doesn't leave, and Wellick doesn't tell him to.

Is he trying to make me uncomfortable? Talk about petty.

I slap my leg. "Well?"

“You said you were coming to the party. I made myself look like a fool waiting for you.” the seat creaks as he shifts, "You have no idea how many hours of work you cost me last night."

I look at him, turning up my lips. "Enlighten me."

His expression goes rigid. His gaze flits to Sutherland and then back to me. He frowns, "I think, first, you owe me an explanation. Where were you?" 

Something uncomfortable settles in my stomach and whatever snarky response I had planned is forgotten. I look at the window. “Look, uh…” I run my tongue over my teeth, “I didn’t mean to bail on you. Really, I didn't. But you know how it can be. Things got hectic. I couldn't make it."

The fabric hisses as Wellick shifts. "It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with fsociety, would it?"

It's effort to keep my face impassive. "That hoity-toity hacker group? What makes you say that?"

"They attacked AllSafe again today, didn't they? This must be a busy time for you."

I chuckle. "I see where this is going."

A pause. "Do you?"

Yup. Our plan - _his_ plan for  _us,_ the one Whiterose swiped off the table the minute she decided to get back in the game. That's one more reason to get rid of Wellick. I have a feeling Whiterose will do more than threaten me if she finds out about him. Dark Army are trigger-happy at best and I'd rather not test whether it'll be me or him on the wrong side of the barrel.

I turn to Wellick with a wry smile. "Last night went well then? Despite my lack of input costing you 'hours' of work?"

He looks sharply away. "Why didn't you just tell me you couldn't come?" he grits his teeth, “Instead of making me wait."

I dodge the question, "I'm in the wrong here, I'll give you that. I'll spare you the excuses, and you can ask what you really want to ask."

"And what is it you think I want to ask?"

I glance at Sutherland. How much does he know? The last thing I want to do is rat Wellick out to his own driver.

I decide to play it safe. "You're gonna be CTO, right? Whatever you did last night worked out and now you're wondering if I'm going to work with you or not."

“I know you aren’t going to accept." There’s something resigned in his voice, but I can hear an undertone of irritation that tells me he’s far from letting this go. "You were never going to. I realised that last night.”

"That's a little presumptive." I mutter, getting defensive.

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes!"

His eyes flash to mine, wide.

Shit. I didn't mean to give him that little bit of hope.

"Shit happens, okay? Immovable forces, you know how it can be." I turn away for a moment, weighing my words carefully. "Sorry for the radio silence - _really_ \- but I can't accept your plan now even if I wanted to."

His eyes sharpen. "Things are...going well for you then?"

There's something desperate in his expression that puts me on edge.

Now that I think about it - why isn't he  _bragging_ about his night? His hubris should be through the roof! In fact, he's avoided talking about it about, instead he's been directing the conversation back to me, back to  _fsociety._

_Shit._

"Elliot?"

I look at my fingerprints, trying not to clench my fingers.

He's too eager to get an answer out of me - and I know why. His conquest of E-Corp and my mission to destroy E-Corp are in direct conflict. Now he knows we aren't working together, he's probing for answers. Any second now he'll...

Wellick turns to Sutherland, "Wait outside please."

Do  _that._

Sutherland meets my eyes in the mirror and slides out of the car.

"It seems you've been very busy lately." Welick says. With Sutherland outside, it's an obvious cue for me to elaborate.  _Look, he's outside, now we can talk privately._

I watch Sutherland move round the front of the car and come to stand by my door. My determined silence adds bite to Wellick's voice.

"I have to know what you're planning." - there it is! - "We were meant to be allies." his voice softens, "We might just want the same thing and I need to be involved."

I knew it: He insists nothing has changed, that we can still work together despite the fact only one of us can get what we want. All I gotta do is tell him everything. Of course!

"I'm pretty positive you're dead wrong about that, my friend. I don't think there's _anything_ we can possibly agree on."

He scowls. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I suggest you cut the bullshit."

"If there's nothing else, I think we're done here."

I manage to open the door an inch before Wellick's fist has clenched around my shirt and he's pulling me back. "Aren't you forgetting that I know your  _dirty little secret_?" he growls, "There are people close to you who won't be happy if they knew what I know."

Wellick's desperation has made him stupid. He's got nothing to gain by telling anyone about Colby - He's said that himself. He's smarter than this and he knows it. He's just upset that I won't rise to his bait and it's downright petty. As I remind him of this, the aggression fades from his face, confirming that his little outburst was nothing but a prey animal trying to look strong. He doesn't even try to grab me again as I push open the door and step out.

I eye Sutherland, but he doesn't try to stop me either. 

I take my chance and start walking.

It's still light out, but street lamps are switching on. Darlene is probably waiting for Elliot at the pier. Soon, his subconscious will be telling him to get up and it won’t be long before I'm out.

"Elliot!"

I twist round.

Wellick is out of the car, but he keeps a distance between us - a peace offering?

He's panting. "I believe in fate. There's a reason we met." he bares his teeth, "There's something between us, I can see it."

He's  _pleading_ with me. He wants me to stop - for the sake of  _us._

But I can't. This thing? This friendship? I can admit it started to mean something to me. But this is just one of many sacrifices I've gotta make. Ends and the means, and all that. The bigger picture. 

"You're only seeing what's in front of you." I say, carefully, "You're not seeing what's above you."

I have to give him up. If I can't sacrifice something as small as this, I won't be able to handle all the shit that will happen after stage 1. Because it's gonna be shitty, and it's my job to make sure Elliot survives it. I can't have anything holding me back.

He looks at the sky. Gulls call quietly as they fly over us. He stares at me, desperate, "I don't understand." His Swedish accent leaks through stronger than ever, "I want to. Help me understand."

What am I supposed to say? ' _Don't take it personally, but we can't be buddies because my very existence depends on the destruction of your precious company.'_ Yeah, that'll go over well.

Wellick closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath. "So much depends on a red wheelbarrow, glazed with rainwater, beside the white chickens."

My eyes widen. That poem - the one I'd never been able to get out of my head since the day I first read it. I stare at him, gawping even, because I'm damn sure, with all our texts, I never once told him about that.

"My father used to say that to me all the time as a child." his voice shakes, weighted, "It was the only English he knew. Some silly _poem._ It meant very much to him."

I watch him.  _Of all the poems..._ Does it mean as much to him, as it does to me? Good old XXII, born nameless and named years after. Man, the pure coincidence of that...

Blinking, I look at the ground.  _Is what?_ I furrow my brow.

"I use it as a reminder." Tyrell goes on, "A reminder of him...and a reminder of what I never want to become."

I'd always thought of the wheelbarrow as the immovable, unquestionable  _thing_ on which we carry our lives. Just that line ' _So much depends upon on…'_ We all have our wheelbarrows. Mine is Elliot. Tyrell's is his father, a man so obsessed with tradition that he didn't take his damn kid to the movies. Tyrell wants the opposite of that. He wants to accelerate, to change the world. The same as me.

...the hell am I thinking? This doesn’t _mean_ anything, only that I’ve been hanging around this guy way too long. This Red Wheelbarrow thing is just a damn coincidence, that's all. There’s no such thing as fate. And if there was, me and it wouldn’t get on.

I slowly raise my gaze to him and - shit.

He has the look of a man whose being pushed slowly over the edge. Desperate. Pleading. Staring at me.

And I have no idea what to  _do_ with that. And that leaves us staring at each other. I panic. "I, uh -" Lump in my throat. Swallow. Reset. It's okay. There's always a reset. Always a backup. Open my mouth again - no sound.  _Too vulnerable. Gotta be strong._

His eyes are too bright, too eager. I swipe my tongue over my lips and look away. 

“I _waited_ for you!” Tyrell hisses, a sudden burst in the silence, “And because of that I achieved _nothing_ that night. I missed my opportunity – I _failed!”_

I jerk back to face him.

I got it wrong. He's not trying to stop me - I've stopped him.

He heaves a sob, "I'll do whatever is necessary. I can't start from the bottom again. I'm not the same- I-I don't know how... I couldn't live with myself."

"So  _that's_ what this is!" I snort, "You think you can hop on someone else's success ladder because you're afraid of falling off your own. You wanna take all the glory without putting in an ounce of effort! Well tough shit. I don't owe you a thing."

He sucks in his cheeks.

"Now, I don't know what you've got in your head, but let's be clear: We aren't allies, and we sure as hell aren't friends. There's no fate, no destiny -"

“You _just_ said there's more above us!”

Heat rushes to my face. The lump in my throat is back and I swallow over it, my throat eliciting an audible click. "You're looking at this all wrong: Everyone's gotta make sacrifices. Like you say, just doing what’s necessary.”

He's gotta understand that. 

Tyrell is still scowling, but the slight softening of the skin around his eyes tells me that he’s understood _something,_ at least, and he’s clinging to it.

“For what it’s worth, it’s been fun.”

He starts and jerks his eyes back to me. “Wait – tell me more.”

I snort to hide my fond smile. _So eager._ "I got stuff I gotta do."

His eyes widen, mouth agape. He nods once. Then several times. ""I...understand. I understand." He looks at the sky again, "Sacrifice."

I watch him a moment longer, memorising the details of his face. It doesn't feel right leaving him with tears in his eyes, but I've stayed too long already. I'm going soft. Stay any longer, I'll turn to goo. 

With hands in my pockets, I walk away and don't look back. It's time to focus on the road ahead.

* * *

  _"I am Mr. Robot."_

* * *

It was Darlene who gave the game away in the end, but only because Elliot didn't remember who she was and, seriously, how long can you hide not recognising your own sister? I was busted a little while after, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not get into it.

It was a rough couple of hours, and I'm high on misery and rage and anxiety, buzzing awake, but silent, while Elliot is the exact opposite: the realisations have drained him. He's still awake, still in control, but he sits on the couch in the apartment and stares at the roof.

I let him have it. He’s going through a lot, the last thing he needs his me taking over. Besides, if I can get on his good side, something good can come out of this. We can be a team, like we used to. Besties. The duo. Two minds and one body in sync. The perfect system.

Darlene searches the apartment for his meds, but Elliot and I both know he doesn't take them anymore, and hasn't for years now, thank fuck.

"The hack," Elliot says, abruptly, "maybe we shouldn't go through with it."

That's his shock talking, that's all. I'll give him two hours, tops, and then we'll talk. With five hours until we execute, I can't give him longer than that. I need to get him up and moving. Right now, I'm stuck – remember how I said high-emotion can make us flip? Well, we're both equal in high emotion, equally balanced, so the scales aren't moving. I'm stuck - unless I can get to the arcade, to the popcorn machine, and flip the switch. Hopefully, it won't come to that. I just need to talk to him. Play my cards well and this will be a blessing in disguise.

 _'Listen, son.'_ I'll say, ' _So what if you're crazy? It's a big family reunion! How cool is that?'_

Darlene leaves to get Elliot his meds, and Elliot, still in shock, stares at the roof.

Ten minutes go by and I get impatient. I shift - Elliot goes rigid. He sees me stood in the corner by the bed, leaning against the wall with my arms folded.

"...What the fuck are you?"

I sigh. "I'm here to help."

He squeezes his eyes shut. "No. No, you're not real. You've...been hijacking my body."

"Those are two contradictory statements, kiddo." I say, trying not to lose my temper, "You might wanna rethink them."

The door opens. Elliot jumps, snapping his eyes up and sitting up.

Flipper trots in and, behind her, Darlene boots the door shut. “I think she’s starting to grow on me.” she says with a smile, but the smile drops when she sees Elliot’s face, "God, you look terrible." she presses her lips together and shoves her hand in her jacket pocket, "I know you don't wanna hear this, but..." 

I hear a familiar rattle - a sound I hoped never to hear again.

"...these should help."

On the table, Darlene puts down a bottle of pills.


	11. f4mily-matt3rs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psycho references.  
> Chapter Warnings: Discussion of mental illness, denial of mental illness, manipulation, canon divergence.

Elliot stares at the bottle of pills, while Darlene empties her pockets of two more, adding up to a grand total of three: Risperidone. Bupropion. Fluoxetine. I remember these things. They make us sleepy and switch us back and forth, both drifting and neither of us in control. Dulled senses, clockwork routine, can't say if that  _thing_ we became qualified as Elliot Alderson. Then there's the dry mouth, the lump in our throat, the general feeling of malaise that won't go away no matter what. Does that sound healthy to you? No. I threw away the pills for a reason: to protect Elliot.

And to protect me.

I am not some sickness to cured, nor am I a festering limb to be carved off. Call me whatever you want, an illusion, a demon, a monster, shout those names as loud and as many times over as you can, and I will yell back twice as loud, for twice as long - I AM HERE TO STAY.

Elliot shudders.

Darlene flops onto the couch next to him. "I'm not gonna lie and say everything is gonna be hunky-dory after this, but we need to keep it together."

Elliot isn't listening, he's thinking.  _"When a virus or worm infects a computer, most people just hit scan and let the system maintain itself._ _Anything deemed unfit or malicious is purged, a simple act of annihilation. But that doesn't protect a machine from infection and not all machines have the correct parameters to protect themselves against an attack._ _The machine is infected again, and then the process repeats, an endless loop of infection and purge. That's me. My system. I'm infected and, yeah, maybe I can fix it. But the question is: Why bother? I'll only become infected again."_

"What's the point?" he murmurs, aloud. "I'm tired of trying to keep it together, I'm so  _fucking tired._ " his voice wavers, "I fell right down that slippery slope, and there's no climbing out -"

"Kay, cut the melodrama!" she scolds, "You  _can_ handle this! It might feel like the end of the world right now, but trust me when I say this is temporary. You've slipped before and you bounced right back. I'm not saying you'll feel great after a pep talk and some coffee, and maybe you won't feel great for a while, but so long as we can get our shit together tonight and execute, you can deal with this after."

Elliot's cheek twitches when I speak, "She's right. We need to focus on the revolution; a lot of people are depending on us to get this done. This isn't as bad as you think."

 _"Did you hear that?"_   he thinks, _"My dead father says this isn't that bad."_

I grind my jaw. I can't help how he sees me, can't help that I'm dad just as much as I ain't. "Those pills aren't going to get rid of me, kiddo, they're only going to fuck up our brain – we can't work with that shit in our system! We have less than five hours, we don't have time to parade in coo-coo land. Trust me, you're better off without them."

_"Trust him? After all these months of lies and secrets - I thought I had someone, a mentor, a friend, I don't know, but it turns out I was talking to myself the whole time. That just makes it more pathetic. Seriously - a crazy kook shaking up my mundane existence? That's the very definition of self-indulgent fantasy. It was blatantly obvious right from the beginning..."_

"...Are you seeing him right now?"

Elliot turns to Darlene. Her concerned eyes flit over his face. He nods.

"You know he's not real, right? And these" she picks up the Risperidone, "should get rid of him."

 _"Darlene is right, I need to purge the virus - but something doesn't feel right. This is different to seeing something that isn't there, because, like he said before, it's a contradictory statement."_ He shakes his head, "This is different."

"Because it's dad?"

He looks away.

"I miss him too." she reaches for his arm, but pulls it back before she touches him and lets it flop onto her lap. "Maybe that's all this is? Like, a projection? Because of all the stuff we've been doing."

"Why were we doing all of that?" he drones, "It's not like it's gonna change anything."

"Are you serious right now?" Darlene stands, "E-Corp fucked us! They killed dad and we couldn't even get a damn lawsuit! So much for the 'justice' system. This is about taking the system to task -  _all of it._  Their sociopathetic asses need to be held responsible.  _You_  taught me that, don't tell me you forgot!"

I nod eagerly along.  _Hell yeah, Darlene!_

Elliot isn't moved at all. "That wasn't me. It was him."

Darlene scowls. "What are you trying to say?"

Elliot rises to his feet so they're eye-level. "I want to stop the hack."

"What?! Just last month you were raving about getting this done!"

" _Last month? That's a_ _fter Shayla – what was I doing? I don't remember. Fuck! It must have been him."_

Darlene's face goes concerned again, "God, do you not remember that either?"

Elliot scrubbed sweat from his face. "You don't get it. It's not that I don't remember, it's that I wasn't there. It was him. He took over!"  _"How much have I missed? Days, months, years? Shit, this is my fault. If only I paid closer attention, if I didn't avoid myself -"_

"Elliot, you're not some Tyler Durden! I would have noticed!" her voice cracks, "You just don't remember. But you will. You always remember."

He shakes his head. "Not this time."

"You will!" Darlene denies vehemently. She grasps his elbows. "You remembered me, you realised what was happening -"

Elliot yanks out of her grip and starts to pace the room.  _"What would you do in my position?"_ he asks his Friend,  _"I know. I know. I'm 110% crazy. But the plan isn't. Is it? Maybe I should let it happen. No. The fallout is too massive, I can't let it happen."_

Nietzsche once said "To forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity." Elliot may have forgotten our purpose, but I haven't. I know exactly what I need to do next.

"After everything we've done, you're just gonna sit here and let this opportunity pass?" I pause for effect, and then scoff and spread my arms smugly, "What the hell. You do just that, kiddo. Sit here in your apartment and stew, let the others clean up after you." 

Come on. Take the bait.

 _"Shit, that's right."_   Elliot thinks, _"Even if I stay here to avoid executing the hack, fsociety will try to execute without me. I have to stop it myself - I have to delete everything."_  

He grabs his backpack.

"What are you doing?" Darlene says, reaching for him before he can walk out the door, "I'm not letting you wander off again - where ever it is you're going I'm going with you!"

"I'm going to the arcade." he says, "I'm going to put an end to this."

He'll be suspicious if I stay quiet, so I start yelling, "Come on, kiddo! This the only time your miserable existence has meant anything, and you wanna hit backspace on the whole thing? Do you really think, if you do this, that it'll be the end? Think Whiterose won't be as pissed as I am for wasting her time? This is a serious mistake."

Darlene says, "You can't be serious..."

"I am serious." he glances at the ground, "Listen, Darlene. If..." he stops. He was gonna ask Darlene to make sure the hack was stopped, to stop  _me_ if I took over again. But her denial had shaken him; he shifts from her, inwardly recoiling, distrustful and ashamed. He doesn't want to burden her with any of this. This is his responsibility, his mess to fix, but he isn't sure if he can do it alone.

So I chime in, "You think she's gonna let you stop this? You saw how much she wants this."

"Elliot?" her eyes don't leave his, "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing." He turns towards the door, and she quickly follows.

The subway ride is an awkward one; Darlene, trying and failing, to get Elliot to explain what the plan is, and him shrinking away from her. I stay quiet, waiting for my moment.

It's just after 9.00pm when we arrive at the arcade. Elliot turns on the lights, and they flicker on as we enter, Elliot first, and Darlene reluctantly behind. The GAMES sign comes on first, and then the machines, humming as they come to life, and finally the ticket booth by the door flickers on, and the warm orange glow lights the way in. The popcorn machine takes a little longer to warm up, but soon, the popcorn starts to cook. The sound of popping draws Elliot's curious eye – and that's all I need. One glance at my emergency switch and Elliot is knocked out cold.

_Sorry, kiddo. This is the way it has to be._

"So," Darlene drones, her casual stroll barely hides her bitterness, "What exactly is your plan for when everyone else gets here and finds out that this past year was for nothing?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I am being pretty selfish." I chortle and she narrows her eyes. I stroll to the desk and slide into the seat, switching on the computer. I ignore Darlene's eyes, fixed on me and focus on the work. Finally, the computer boots up and…what the hell is this?

Someone has put addition software on here – Keyloggers. Cute little buggers that record every key stroke and store it. How long have these been here? Who put them here? Romero? Wouldn't put it past him. 

I move to delete them...

And then Darlene says, "You're not Elliot are you?"

I stop. I force myself to face her, feeling raw and exposed, and something in my expression makes her eyes go wide. 

"Jesus." she hisses, "You're actually fucking serious, aren't you? You're not him."

"I guess the cat is outta the bag." I mutter, fingers burning. What am I even worried about? It's _Darlene_.All that time we spent together has gotta count for something. Right?

But that damn look she's giving me, like she's trying to find Elliot through me. I knew this would happen, because no one ever sees me, they just see Elliot. I turn back to the screen but I can still feel the weight of her eyes. I hunch my shoulders. "You can stop staring now."

"How long?"

"About five minu-"

"That's not what I meant." she says, "How long have you...been like this?"

"Darlene-"

" _How_  long?"

I grind my jaw. "Longer than you think."

"But I..." she struggles, but quickly asserts herself, "We've not met, right? I only know Elliot."

I snort, "I guess I imagined that time you kicked me out the arcade."

Silence.

"Okay, time for a reality-check!" I whirl to face her. "You think Elliot forgot you just yesterday? No! He hasn't known who you are for months, Darlene. Way before Colby. To him, you were just some stuck-up coder. Some brother."

Tears prick at her eyes but she holds them back.

"All those times you thought you were with him, you were with me." I continue, merciless, "After you kicked me out, I bought you Strongbow and we went to some Mexican-themed bar out by the beach. _Me -_ not him! You were too busy playing Scarlett O'Hara to notice!"

She glares at the floor, and I think maybe I've gone too far. She's had it as rough as us tonight.

"I didn't forget you," I say, "I never have."

"If that's supposed to make me feel better, it's not working." she clenches her fists, "All those times Elliot forgot me when we were kids, was that you too?"

She's talking like I made him forget. Sure, he doesn't remember the stuff I do and I expect that, but the fact he forgot Darlene, what his dad looked like, and my existence - that was just as disconcerting to me as it is to her.

Defensive, I huff and turn back to the screen. "Can it with the questions!"

"I didn't exactly have time to pick up a psychology book." There's another pause. She shifts on her feet. "Elliot said he thought you were dad, so is it like that movie _Psycho?"_

I'm getting more pissed off by the minute, "I'm not going to murder you in a shower if that's what you're thinking."

"I didn't mean that. I meant, am I like..." she huffs incredulously, "...a  _daughter_ to you? Or a sister?"

That throws me for a second. I clench my jaw together to stop the instinctual answer from leaping out, because no matter how hard I try, I always want to say  _daughter._ But she's not my daughter, no matter how much my mind screams otherwise, a constant internal battle: Father. Brother. Both. Neither. All of them at once, the contradictions pressing into my skull, giving me headaches. But taking away all that, Darlene does mean something to me, not quite a friend but a...

"You're my conspirator," I say, the most honest answer I can give, "my partner in crime."

She searches my face, saying nothing.

I wonder - is she looking for her brother or her father? Whichever one, I turn away before she can find it, back to the computer. "Come on, it's time to get to work. Go check our access to the CS30 server."

"You can't expect me to just drop this."

"There will be plenty of time to talk about this later." There's a long pause before I hear her move away. Without giving it much thought, I send the keyloggers to our computer at home and move back to the task at hand.

"Hey, um..." Darlene says abruptly. "I just checked our access – you know the honeypot me and…Elliot got rid of? It's back."

I nearly flip the desk. "WHAT?!"

She's immediately on the defensive, "Gideon must have found out and put it back! I thought you wanted this! I mean, Elliot -" she cuts herself off with a sigh, "This is so fucked up! Is there a way I can talk to Elliot? Bring him back somehow?"

I ignore her question. "We need to get rid of that honeypot or our whole operation is sunk."

"There's no time! You needed 24 hours to get that honey pot request through using Gideon's email. We have 3!"

We stare at each other.

_No. This isn't..._

I turn and brace my palms against the desk, hanging my head. I sigh.

Darlene's voice goes soft. "I'm gonna get you a drink, okay?"

I hear her move to the water dispenser, hear the water slosh into the cup – I zone it out. I'm getting an idea. A backup plan. _3 hours...It's enough. This isn't going to end this way because..._

Darlene puts a cup of water down next to me. "At least we have enough time to dismantle the code, wipe down, and pretend this shit never happened. I don't know what the fuck Dark Army is gonna do once they find out." She hums, wryly, "Maybe we can high-tail it out of here, go to Budapest. Get fake names and all that."

I glare at the keyboard. "We're not dismantling the code."

"Dude, it's over! I thought - Ugh!" she twists away.

And I go rigid because as she twisted I heard a clatter, the all too familiar tapping on plastic. I look at the cup of water on the desk, to her, to the water. I straighten slowly.

" _Can we get him back?"_

" _I'm gonna get you a drink, okay?"_

She wouldn't…

"Empty your pockets."

She frowns, "What?"

"Empty. Your. Pockets!"

She tenses at growl in my voice, but keeps her no-shits-given expression as she empties her pockets, dumping the contents on the desk. Lock-pick. Phone. Bottle of pills.

I snatch the up pills and check the label. "Sleeping pills?"

She has the balls to look confused. "Yeah, for my insomnia. Do you –" she reaches for them but I yank them back, "-mind?"

I stare at her, at the cup of water on the table. My fist tightens around the plastic bottle. "You were going to give me these."

"What?!"

I glare at her and the look is enough to make her back away an inch.

"What are you-"

I throw the bottle onto the floor. The lid pings off and pills scatter everywhere, and this time she jumps back and keeps moving.

I advance. "You were going to  _drug_ me!"

Her eyes go wide, "But I wasn't!"

_Liar._

She backs away as I keep coming. Her shoulder smacks an arcade game and she skirts around it. Some part of me registers that she's shaking, but I ignore it, full of rage at her betrayal, and I ignore all the pleas that come out of her mouth – "Elliot, stop!" and "Back off." and "You're scaring me!" – until she turns and scrambles up the ramp and through the glass door between the two TICKETS signs. She slams the door shut and pins her hands there.

"I said,  _back off_!" she screams, "You fucking psycho!"

 _Just like the movie._ I chuckle at the irony. I walk up the ramp, to the door, and lean my face close to the glass.

She swallows, but keeps her hand pinned there.

Not that helps, I could easily overpower her. I could force the door open, I could smash the glass, so many ways to get in. I reach for the handle – and turn the catch. The lock clicks.

Darlene freezes.

I smile. "Sit tight."

Her hand dives in her pocket, but her lock pick is on the desk and when she realises that wide eyes flash to mine. "What the hell are you doing?!"

I turn away, heading to the popcorn machine to take out the gun. "The others will be here in an hour to let you out." I ignore her fist rapping on the door and her cursing up a storm. I tuck the gun into the back of my jeans and pull the hoodie over it. "I'll be back in time to execute."

With only 3 hours to get rid of that honeypot, there's only one man who can help me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: Elliot has dissociative identity disorder but his medication is for mania, insomnia, depression and anxiety.


	12. Sacr1f1ce.

A subway ride later, I’m back in New York with Elliot’s phone pressed to my ear. It rings for a long time, and I get the feeling I’m being ignored. Shouldn’t surprise me; Tyrell has never seen Elliot’s real number before. It’s a risk, a damn stupid one at that, but I’m all out of options. I've got less than two hours left.

Finally, there’s an answer. “Who is this?”

“It’s me – Where are you?”

There’s a long pause on the other end. “I’m at E-Corp."

“Don’t move, I’m on my way.” I wave down a cab. I tell the driver where to go and sit back, shoulders hunched, tense with the weight of Whiterose’s deadline pressing into me and all the crap I’ve had to put up with tonight. “Twenty minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll wait.” His voice sounds strange. Wavering.

It puts me on edge. “Are you alone?”

“There are people downstairs, but I’m the only one up here.”

That’s good. That’ll be fine. I reach back and feel for the gun, still there, tucked in the waistband of my jeans. I breathe slow. Not sure what I’m gonna do just yet, but when your existence is on the line, you’ve gotta do whatever it takes.

“It’s a –” his voice is drowned out by a crackling noise.

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for the noise to stop. “Didn’t catch that?"

“It’s a nice view.” He says, “I think you’ll like it.”

Even now he’s trying to impress. Thought he’d get by now that I don’t give a shit what the view from his office is like.

Another pause. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said.”

“Uh-huh.” I’m not sure what he’s talking about. A lot has happened since I last saw him.

He says something else, but that annoying sound drowns him out again. Luckily, the cab pulls up outside E-Corp. I throw money at the driver, which gets me an indignant ‘What the hell, dude?’ before I jump out.

“Alright, I’m here.” I say into the phone, “What floor are you on?”

“I – I’m on the roof.”

Squinting, I look up, up, up, tipping my head right the way back. “The penthouse wasn’t high enough for you or something?”

He doesn’t answer.

I make my way inside. The place is still open for people staying late, but it’s quiet. The lobby is empty and there's no one at the desk. I walk toward the turnstile and hop over the barrier. I get into the nearest elevator, but I notice the card-scanner on the side. I try a button. Nothing. I need an employee card. "Fuck!" I step back out of the elevator and put the phone to my ear, "You're gonna have to come down here and get me."

“I’m on my way.” He hung up.

I delete the call from Elliot’s phone history before I put the phone away. I pace up and down in front of the elevator doors.

Finally, the doors open and Tyrell is stood there. I stop, mid-step, and stare at him. He looks pale and there's a blue tint to his skin.

Just then, I hear the static click of a walkie-talkie from down the corridor.

Security guards.

Shit.

Tyrell grabs my arm and pulls me into the elevator, using his employee card to get the elevator moving. The doors shut with a heavy  _thunk_ and the ground shifts as we're carried up. We stare at each other in silence. His other hand still has hold of my arm and it feels like ice through my sleeve. 

Pushing his cold-ass hand away, I say, “You look like crap.”

He scowls, offended, and scrubs his face.

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant…” Last time he looked like this, I walked away. But I can’t walk away now. I’ve gotta confront this head-on. “What’s wrong with you?”

He doesn't answer for a moment. "Joanna and I fought."

“Well...sorry to hear that. That sucks.”

He shifts his jaw. “We can’t talk here. I’m taking you up to the roof. The cameras up there have been broken for a while.”

That leaves us in an awkward elevator ride. I sigh, looking around. There’s a TV screen on mute beside the elevator doors playing an advert for E-Corp’s latest line of cosmetics. I look away.

“What did you fight about?” I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.

“You.”

“Oh. That’s…” _awkward_ “…very flattering.”

Finally, the elevator doors open, and we step out into the corridor and walk until we find a staircase to the rooftop. As I step out onto the roof, I hear cars driving below us.

Wind ruffling his hair, Tyrell steps ahead of me, his footsteps crunching. The ground is covered in pebbles except for a patch of concrete tiles in the middle, probably for a bench but there’s nothing there. I can’t imagine many people hang around up here anyway. Even in May, it’s freezing. Especially at night. What the hell was Tyrell doing up here in the first place?

“I know why you’re here.” he says suddenly. “You’re here to ask me to remove the honeypot. I should have known it would be tonight, your father's birthday. It's beautifully poetic.” He glances at me, "I also know you've already tried removing it. Earlier, tech support received an email from Gideon Goddard requesting to remove the honeypot. Odd, seeing how he told me in person he implemented the honeypot in the first place. It was you. Fsociety’s attack on AllSafe was just a distraction. So, I told them to ignore it.”

I scowl. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Maybe.” He murmurs. He turns to look at the cityscape, looking at lights like stars on silhouetted buildings. “I don’t know all the details of your plan, but I know you’re behind everything. The DoS attack, Colby, fsociety...” he looks at me with crazed, excited eyes, “I found all your clues.”

I don’t say anything. What can I even say, at this point?

He walks over to the patch of concrete and looks at it like it has all the interest in the world.

“Remember the night you made me wait for you? I was supposed to be here.” He hovers his hand over the concrete tiles. “This is the spot where I planned to seduce my rival’s wife. The scandal would have been enough to make Scott refuse the position, forcing Price to make me CTO.” He clenches his fist, “Now, it’s a reminder of my failure – of what might have been.” He bares his teeth, “Explain something to me, Elliot.  _Why_ would I give that up? Why, instead of being  _here,_ was I down there – looking for  _you_?”

I’m sick of being everyone’s scapegoat tonight. “You made your choice.”

 _“Exactly!_ Joanna thinks you’ve bewitched me. But she doesn’t understand. She  _laughed_ when I told her what you were planning. We argued all night. She told me I’m a failure, that I let our family down, let down our child – that I’m a shell of a man she married. She couldn’t believe that I gave up everything we worked for on  _impulse._ For a  _fantasy._ If I’d just done what she wanted, then…”

“Then what?!” I spit, suddenly in a rage, “Wait for the next instruction and the next? What are you, some freaking…” I stutter, “ _r-robot?!_ Punch in the commands – sir, yes, sir! So what if you made a damn decision for yourself for a change? Own it! Better that than being some puppet, a passive player living through somebody else.”

He shakes his head, turning to press his arms against the ledge. He bows his head. “You don’t understand – our marriage is everything. It  _is_  me, can’t you see? Without her, I’m incomplete.”

I  _do_ understand. That's no different to the co-dependency that makes up me and Elliot. In the end, everything comes back to Elliot. That’s why I exported the keyloggers, because that’s what Elliot would have done, and despite everything I couldn’t help myself.

But Tyrell isn’t me. He isn’t a broken off piece of a whole, but he damn well acts like it. He  _chose_  it. Who the hell would choose that? I snort at the ridiculousness of it.

“Scott Knowles will be watching me at all times.” He breathes sharply, “He’ll try to have me fired, I guarantee it. That, or he’ll spend the rest of his days humiliating me! I’m not sure which he’d enjoy more. At best, I’m  _stuck._ Life’s potential fulfilled at thirty-two. And Joanna...” He pressed his face into his hands.

“Oh, come on! What has this damn company ever done for you, other than eat you up and spit you back out? Admit it. You hit a dead end. That’s why you came to me. And looks like things haven’t got much better.” I step up next to him so I can see his face, "But you can change all that! You're the Chief of Technology. The engineers will do whatever you ask. All you gotta do is tell them to remove that honeypot."

“You’re asking me to sacrifice my company.”

"It's not your company! You said yourself, you've failed! You're done, Tyrell! You've nothing left to fight for!"

"I should stop you." he murmurs, "She'd want me to stop you."

I fold my arms behind my back and take hold of the gun. "Funny. If I recall correctly, you wanted to join me."

"I shouldn't. I-I can still fix this, I still have my job..." He bites his lip. He's conflicted. He's vulnerable.

And I have a gun.

I tighten my hold on it and... Suddenly I can’t stop thinking about those stupid fucking texts, his annoyance at eating McDonalds, him proving every preconception I had about him wrong at the bar, that  _kiss..._

Sighing, I let go of the gun and turn away. I push my hand through my hair.

I can't. Not like this.

Because he's potential, chaotic  _beautiful_  potential, chewed up by a lifetime of self-slavery. I've just got to make him see it.

I turn back. I brace my hands against the ledge and push until I get both feet on. I stand, toes touching the edge, with a 700ft drop below me and no barrier.

Tyrell was right. The view is amazing.

“What are you doing?” he says, alarmed.

"Feels pretty good up here." I give him my best 'mysterious leader' smile, "I think you should join me. One more act of faith, for old time's sake."

It’s silent for a long time. Then I hear the cobbles clattering together. The scuffle of shoes.

“Move up.” 

I grin at Tyrell, who’s climbing up onto the ledge. “How big is your personal space? I’ve given you, like, three feet!” I move up anyway.

His face is resolute; eyes squeezed shut, brow in a determined furrow.

“Hey, watch this.” Before he can do anything, I cross the distance between us and press my hand on his back, enough to make him tip forward, but not to fall.

He makes a terrified sound. He swings and grabs me for balance, and I grip him back to stop us both careening off the edge. He stares at the expanse below us, wide eyed.

“There! You see?!” My shout is so loud he jumps, and his eyes snap to mine. “Survival instincts –  _pure_ self-reliance! There’s a little independence in you after all.”

His arms tighten their grip, one around my waist, the other on my shoulder. His chest is pressed against mine and I can feel his heart, beating fast.

“Feel that?” I clutch his shirt where his heart is, bundling the fabric in my fist. “That’s what you’ve got to pay attention to.”

“…my heart?”

“Your  _instincts.”_  I roll my eyes, “You – listen, maybe you were right. There is something between us. You and me, we're like the same line of code. We were made to do the hard things, the things no one else wants to think about.”

He blinks. The sweat on his forehead shines in the city light.

“You’re not incomplete, Tyrell. You’re just buried.” We’re so close, breathing each other’s breath. “It's time to take off that mask and live as you were meant to."

I think I've convinced him but then he slides his arms off me.

"I want to." he confesses. He plays with the wedding ring on his finger. I don't recall ever seeing him wear it before. "You've no idea how much I've thought about it, ever since I realised what you were really planning, how  _important_  it was. I wanted so badly to be a part of it."

I don't say anything. I watch his face.

He grips the ring with his finger and thumb. "You told me everyone has to make sacrifices." He looks at me with those damn bright eyes. "What did you sacrifice?"

I think about Darlene, locked in a ticket booth. I think about Elliot, the trust built between us long gone. "Two people, who admired me a lot before tonight." I've already come to terms with the loss. If that's what it takes then so be it. I'm not supposed to be admired.

Tyrell says nothing for a while.

Then he tugs the ring off his finger and lets it fall.


	13. Spyw4re

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psycho references.

We’re in Tyrell’s SUV and I’m driving. Sutherland took the night off, apparently something to do with wrinkles. 

Tyrell has been quiet since he got off the phone with the engineers. That's it. The honeypot is gone. Now, he’s looking at his hand, pinching the finger his wedding ring was on and it makes me nervous.

"You hanging in there?" I say, glancing between him and the road, "Not going back on your decision, are you?"

He scowls and puts one arm on the armrest. Maybe he's trying to look like he doesn't give a shit. Or maybe he's trying to stop thinking about the ring. Eventually, he says, “E-Corp is formidable. They will find a way to recreate the data after the hack.”

Thank fuck he doesn't want to talk feelings. I said some embarrassingly mushy things up on that roof that I’m happy to let slide. “That’s why we’re going to destroy the paper records. That's stage 2.”

“I know all the facilities and their procedures. It's possible to gather all the records in one location, but how exactly are we going to destroy them?”

I tell him. It’s the original plan I had for Steel Mountain, with a few modifications, “…the amount of batteries in the battery room will create enough hydrogen gas to wreck the building, and all the records with it. That’s the deal. One building for the whole of society.”

“A sacrifice for what lies above us.”

That makes me smile. For once we're on the same page and it feels good.

I flick on the indicator as I take us off the freeway. We're close now, the journey by car takes half the time it does by subway. I grip the wheel tight, trying to keep my emotions in check. I can't risk Elliot waking up now.

Tyrell chuckles.

I frown. "Did I miss something funny?"

"I just imagined you and your father blowing up buildings instead of blowing out birthday candles." Tyrell smiles, his eyes wet and shinning in the street light, and I'm smug over the affection in the look.

I huff. "If we're talking weird traditions, I think your dad takes the cake. At least _my_ dad let me watch movies."

Hard to believe there’s a dad out there that didn’t let his kid watch movies. Whenever Mom got cranky, Dad locked Elliot in a room with a bunch of old movies on video. He didn’t care what he watched, so long as he stayed away from Mom. I mean it. Sex. Violence. The edgiest any R rated flick could offer and he wouldn’t say jack.

Except once.

Elliot was six and watching _Psycho._ About halfway through, Dad came in. The minute he saw what we were watching, he crossed the room and switched off the TV. “I don’t want you watching that, it’s inappropriate.”

Elliot blinked, “But you said I could watch anything I wanted.”

“Not this.” He said, voice stern. “I’m your father and what I say goes!”

Elliot looked at the floor.

That was all it took for Dad to sigh guiltily and sit next to him. He was always too damn _soft._   “Hey.... how about we watch something together? What about...” he picked up Disney's  _Robin Hood._ "Ah. This is a fun one!"

"...I've watched it before."

"Well, we can watch something else if you want."

"No, I mean-" he cut himself off and gestured to the TV. "That one. I - I didn't get nightmares, I promise!"

A total lie and Dad knew it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Elliot kept his eyes on the ground. "I...I feel bad for Norman. He didn't really do the bad things, it was his _bad half_ that did it."

“It’s an interesting thought, isn’t it?” Dad said gently. “To have another person inside your head, who can take control?”

"I don’t like it. The other person is so violent and scary.”

“He might not be.” Dad said quickly. “He might just want someone to talk to, someone who will listen.”

“ _She,_ Dad.” He smiled at Dad’s stupidity, “It was a _she_ in the movie. And she hurt people. She's really scary.”

“Sometimes movies are wrong.” He looks at us, “If there was another person, they deserve a chance. I’d be willing to give them that.”

Elliot wasn’t convinced. It made sense that if someone was broken in half, they’d be broken in a good half and a bad half. Later, I re-enacted the shower scene from _Psycho_ by stabbing a teddy bear repeatedly with a red pen, imitating the screeching violins with my mouth. When Dad found me and asked why, I said, “This is what the other person is supposed to do.”

* * *

  _“What’s this other fella’s name again? ...Swedish, huh.”_

* * *

I park the car outside the arcade and sigh, “Oh boy.”

“What is it?”

The rest of fsociety will be there by now, and Darlene will be out of her cage. I can see it now: Us strolling in, me waggling my eyebrows as I pass Romero. _Blow the lid off my secret affair_ now _, bitch!_ As fun as that would be, if Tyrell goes in there, he’ll get torn to pieces. Besides, if I wanna defuse Darlene, it’s best not to bring Tyrell into the battlefield.

“Wait here.”

"I want to go with you. What if something happens?"

I huff. "Trust me, it'll be safer for me and for you if you stay here." I reach round for the gun and give it to him, “Keep hold of this. Just in case.” I get out of the car and walk to the arcade’s side entrance. Opening the door, it's strangely quiet and it puts me on edge. Are the others not here yet? At least I can deal with Darlene without an audience. But when I go round the corner, she isn’t there.

“Boss!”

Mobley, Trenton and Romero are here after all, stood together and looking guilty as hell. Darlene is nowhere to be seen. Either I'm about to get ambushed or something seriously fucked is happening. I spread my arms, “Where the hell is Darlene?”

None of them say anything. They just stare at me.

“Well?” I march towards them and it’s only when I get a little way into the arcade that I’m at the right angle to see that it's not just us. I stop.

Three guys are stood in my office. Two of them are wearing Dark Army masks, and the third is sat in my seat with his face in _Crime and Punishment._  Romero's gun sits on the counter.

"What the fuck..."

The prick reading my book says, “Normally I’d apologise for the intrusion but, uh, I ain’t here to be friendly.” He sounds polite, but there's a threatening edge to his voice. He puts down the book, revealing a moustache, glasses, and a bored expression. He angles his head to the guy on his right. "Check outside. Chances are our man is out there."

Without a word, the guy leaves.

_Tyrell._

I clench my jaw. If I'm gonna get us out of this, I need answers. "What the fuck is this?"

The prick wearing glasses stands, "I can tell you're going to test my patience, so I'm going to say this in words you'll understand - You fucked up."

Meaning what? I got rid of the damn honeypot, just like Whiterose wanted, and it was in time.

I look at the others. Mobley looks like he's about to have a haemorrhage, Trenton and Romero are much better at hiding their panic. From the way they're looking at me, they don't have a clue what's going on either. 

Before I can say anything, the sound of a gunshot cracks the silence.

The obvious conclusion is Tyrell just got shot and Dark Army don't  _miss._ Something hot and roaring flares inside me, and I ball my hand into a fist, "You son of a..." I get an inch closer when the remaining DA op points a gun at me, and survival instincts make me stop.

The door opens and the second DA op drags in Tyrell - _alive! -_ and pushes him to the floor in front of me. For a second, all I can do it stare at him, but as he stands without a struggle, no hole through either leg, I grab him roughly by his shoulder and turn him. I don't give a fuck how it looks. I run my gaze over him, searching for any signs of blood or pain.

He's _okay._

He looks at me pleadingly. "It jammed."

Meanwhile, the DA op passes Tyrell's gun and what looks like Tyrell's driving license to Glasses and goes to stand by the exit.

Glasses raises his eyebrow. "You need to invest in better firearms, Mr Wellick. Lucky for you, we don't take a shooting too seriously. What's a little gun wound between friends, eh?" he chuckles, "Now, I need you to give your car keys to one of the standbys here, preferably someone who can drive, and they're gonna take your car to the parking lot on, uh..." he looks at his hand, "17th and 6th. Go on."

Tyrell looks at me. I pointedly ignore Romero, Trenton and Mobley when I say, "I have the keys."

"Uh-huh." Glasses pauses. "This is for you then. For the dash." He passes me money but I don't take it. "Go on."

Apparently I don't have a choice. I slide the money into my back pocket.

Romero mutters, "What the actual fuck..."

"You three don't need to look so worried." Glasses says to Trenton, Mobley and Romero, "It seems there’s been, uh, a bit of a communication issue regarding a honeypot in the server vital to your little hack.”

 _Little hack._ Who does this prick think he is?

Mobley shifts, “A honeypot?”

Shit. They don’t know. Only Elliot and Darlene knew about it.

“Thankfully taken care of by Mr Wellick.” Glasses continues, and I notice Trenton, Mobley and Romero glance at me. “Admirable, but very sloppy. And that’s me being kind." He looks at Tyrell, "Your friend James – E-Corp IT, I believe – after he completed your honeypot request he contacted a Gideon Goddard, who reported the incident to the FBI and then well…Do I really need to go any further?”

Tyrell is wincing. He got ratted out. That puts him at the heart of it, the only piece of evidence, and it goes straight to him. He knows how bad this is, and still he says, “And if I say no?”

“Mr Wellick, there will be a man-hunt for you the likes of which we haven’t seen since Bin Laden. Now, I am you’re only shot at staying out of jail. But, hey, if you want to try to make a go of it on your own, well that’s on you. I’ll hightail it out of here quicker than you can finish a box of Swedish Fish.” He grins at that last bit, like it was the funniest thing.

Tyrell says nothing.

I step closer to him, and when I look at him I see his panic, his uncertainty. His shoulders are pulsing with his heavy silent breaths. He'd stay with me if I asked him to. “You should go.” I tell him, and when he looks at me, I nod. This is out of our control now.

He nods minutely in return. Then, he scrubs his face with his hands and leaves with the two masked operatives.

Gone.

"You can all calm down now." the moustached  _asshole_ says, "Though it appears I've forgotten to introduce myself. Memory of a goldfish, what can you do." He turns his palm to face me and points to the words "TYRELL WELLICK" and "17th + 6th" written on his skin. He scoots forward and sticks out his clean hand, "Irving, not at your service but close enough." He cackles. Dude clearly has too much confidence in his sense of humor.

I don't shake his hand. "Where are you taking him?"

Irving turns and picks Romero's gun off the counter. "Don't worry about that, Alderson. All you need to worry about is going home and lying low. You, tall one," he gestures to Romero, "What's your name?"

Romero doesn't answer.

Irving sighs. "You're all making professional relations very difficult." He empties the shells into his hand and puts them into his pocket. "You best learn how to cooperate. And fast." he presses the gun into Romero's hands on his way past and I realise he's heading towards the door, and he's the only one who knows where Tyrell is going.

“Wait.”

Irving stops.

“The operation is called Red Wheelbarrow.” It’s the best I can do. I hope Tyrell understands.

"Uh-huh." I don’t like the way he looks at me, like he knows something I don’t. "Alright." Then he walks out with the remaining DA op. 

As soon as the door shuts, Mobley lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh fuck, I thought - I thought we were gonna die - _fuck_ \- I need - I need..." he grabs a popcorn cup and heads to the popcorn machine.

"Darlene was here." Thank you Trenton, straight to business, giving me something to focus on other than the fact Tyrell is _just gone._ "She went to go look for you."

"She left before the prick got here?"

Trenton nods. "She told us not to execute until she found you." There's a question there.

I feel panicked. "Tell me you executed."

"Yeah, with a gun to our heads!" Mobley's voice is hysterical.

Trenton is surprisingly calm, but maybe she's just good at hiding her fear. "She was locked in the ticket booth - why?"

There's no point in lying. "She was trying to stop the hack."

Trenton frowns.

Mobley, still shaking all over, licks crumbs off his fingers. " _Darlene_ was?"

"Momentary anarchy." Trenton murmurs, shaking her head, and I don't know what the fuck that means but whatever it is has her saying, "Okay."

" 'Okay'?" Mobley splutters. "Sorry - what the hell is going on?"

"Calm down." I say, "Clearly the Dark Army decided to drop a visit. No biggie."

"No 'biggie'? No offence, boss, but first you're talking to Wellick like you're buddies and now  _this_  happens because of Wellick -"

"Back off, Mobe." Romero tucks his gun in his waistband, "Like that prick said, we got work to do. Wipe down. Lie low. Nothing's changed."

Mobley looks as confused as I feel. I don't think either of us expected Romero to defend me.

"But  _you_ said..."

"Forget what I said, man." Romero says, "Let's just get on it. Darlene's ‘End of the World Party’ idea oughta turn this place into a petri dish of prints.”

Mobley tops up his popcorn, so he's still stressed, but they all get on pulling apart discs. Paranoid, I step into my office and look round. This must be what animals feel like when something unfamiliar enters their den.

I glance at my book pile, _Zeroes_ and all the others I accumulated while Elliot was grieving, except for _Monte Cristo._ I left that hidden on Elliot’s top shelf in the apartment.  _Crime and Punishment_ sits open where Irving left it and that feels gross because it's like he's invaded something just meant for me and Tyrell. Invaded and  _stolen,_ like spyware.

Romero steps up to the counter behind me. “I guess I owe you an apology.” he says, “You were playing Wellick this whole time. Got him to take the fall for the whole thing. That’s pretty smooth.”

He doesn't sound like he means a word of it. He's digging for something, like he was with those keyloggers.

Mobley and Trenton are looking at us.

“You know me.” I force a smile, “I love drama.”

That doesn't seem to be the right answer. Romero shakes his head and walks away. Trenton and Mobley share an uncertain look. I brace my hands on the counter. "So clearly some words need to be said. Yes, we've lost Darlene. She got cold feet at the end and I needed to undo a honeypot. She's out. She knows nothing about this. As for Wellick, you heard right. An E-Corp lackey took the fall. That's what I call beautifully..." my voice hitches, "...poetic."

The eyes directed at me feel weighted.

I flourish my hand. "You're welcome." With a huff, I fall back into my seat.

Two partners gone in one night. Damn. At least it can't get much worse from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we just hit 90 kudos on this beast?!!! GAH, you're all so amazing!!


	14. g0tta-be-k1dd1ng

I am royally pissed. First, he meds me away. Then, he forgets me. Now we’re in fucking jail! I asked him – no – I fucking _begged_ him not to let me be sent away again, but here he is, trying to get rid of me. Damn traitor.

Word spreads fast about us – the new guy, pleaded guilty and convicted in 24 hours. The crime: hacking and dog-thieving. Turns out Flipper got us into this mess. It would be funny as hell if Elliot hadn't pleaded guilty just to spite me. Now he's trying to flush me out like some virus with a medicine of isolation, routine, and journaling.

Freaking  _journaling._

Oh and did I mention we're in fucking  _jail?_

Dim lights, narrow corridors, this whole place screams  _confinement._ Can't even crack open a window, everything is so still. The thing I like about Ferris wheels is the breeze and the movement, but here the air is stale and sweaty. Our cell - Elliot can pretend it's the guest room of Mom's house, but I'm calling it what it is - is so freaking tiny I swear the walls are trying to choke me.

I pace up and down while Elliot frantically scribbles. My mouth is dry and my heart is beating too fast. I can't believe he's done this.

"You're gonna get us killed in here." I say. I'm not just talking about our crazy new neighbours - It's hard to breathe. I'm gonna suffocate. We're both gonna freaking  _die._ "What exactly do you think this is going to accomplish?"

"Maybe you'll start being honest with me."

That's the first time he's spoken directly to me since we got here. "Oh, he speaks!"

"Why did I wake up in Tyrell's SUV? What did you do with him?"

I snort.

Elliot goes back to writing.

When the guard opens the cell door for breakfast time, I take control and go on a jaunt. There's no point hiding the changeover from Elliot anymore, besides it'll freak him out good. Take that, kid.

But that's not the only reason - They let prisoners make phone calls between 6.30am and 7.15am. It's the only way of communicating to the outside world in this place. I head over to where the phones are, but when I get there I realise I have no idea who I'm going to call. Darlene? What would I even say?

The person I really want to call is...

"If you're not going to make a call, get going." says a guard.

I punch in Tyrell's number. I remembered it from all that time we texted. It rings, and rings, and rings -  _the fuck am I doing?_

I hang up.

I've gotten too used to depending on Tyrell when I feel like shit. It's day  _two!_ I'm better than this. Even if there's the smallest chance Dark Army didn't trash Tyrell's phone the night they took him, it's not safe talking to him like this. Too many ears listening. He's the most wanted man in the world for crying out loud, I'll only be putting him at risk.

As I leave the phones and head down the narrow corridor, I pass an office where I can hear the news playing on TV. 

_"…security footage of a hooded figure entering the New York E-Corp facility on the night of 5/9. It is believed by many that this is an accomplice to Tyrell Wellick, the instigator of 5/9, though authorities have stated that he’s being treated as, quote, non-suspicious, end-quote. The hooded man’s identity remains unknown.…”_

I peek inside the office and see a woman glaring back at me, the same woman Elliot chose to play Mom in his little fantasy. Good choice. Mom used to glare just like that, it's uncanny.

I head off to get a scope for this place, the full 100 yards, and -  _fuck -_ try to think of something else.

It’s a godsend when I find the library. At least I have books to sate my boredom with, and I can pretend it’s my usual library, and that Lucy is just around the corner. If Elliot can pretend the prison is his mom’s old house, I can pretend this one little place is my old library. Fair is fair. At least my fantasy isn’t fucked up. _Mom._ Ugh. What kind of self-flagellation is he putting us through here? Couldn’t he have dreamed up…I don’t know, the movie theatre or something? Then again, that place doesn’t have the best memories either.

This place is just as trash as Lucy's library used to be, but at least she wanted to make hers better. Gotta respect someone who puts the effort in. When we met, I was reading some book I can't remember now. I heard a woman scream, followed immediately by a loud  _SMACK!_ I looked up just in time to see a guy no older than eighteen, pants around his ankles, dick flapping about.

Lucy chased him out with a broomstick. "Get out, you hooligan!"

I laughed so hard I nearly tipped over. When Lucy came back, red in the face and ready to apologise, I just grinned. "Hormonal teenagers, am I right?"

She huffed. "I should have seen this coming when I installed the computers."

I slid the book I was reading back onto the shelf. "Just install a web monitoring program. Problem solved."

"I literally have no idea what that means."

I know an opportunity when I see it. "I could do it for you, so long as you let me borrow a book without putting my name on the system." Elliot had a history of hacking low-brow libraries, and at the time I thought it was best not to tempt fate.

Since then, it was give and take between her and me. So, yeah, if I'm going to choose an outside-world fantasy, this one suits me just fine.

The prison library is pretty sparse, though. After a while of browsing the shelves, I manage to find a copy of Shakespeare’s _Richard III_ that makes me think of Tyrell. Smiling softly, I open the play and flick through. “I am determined to prove a villain.” I read, nodding to myself. Yeah. Sounds about right. It’s what the other person is supposed to do.

I hear a noise and I glance up from the pages to see a girl watching me. She’s peeking out between two books, but the blue of her eyeshadow gives her away.

“I like your eye shadow.” It’s the same shade as Tyrell’s eyes.

She doesn't reply, just scuttles away with her book.

I stare back down at that quote. _I am determined to prove a villain._

Yeah. Elliot may see me as a villain, maybe I even am one, but I’m not a disease. If he thinks he can jam me back into that dark, purposeless place, then bring it on. I’ll be the damn villain if that’s what he wants. I’ll hurt him. I’ll shout. I’ll scare the shit out of him. I’m not going down without a fight.

* * *

  _"He's still fighting me, and I'm fighting back. Trying to, anyway."_

* * *

Elliot sits in the visitor room with Darlene, and I stand in the corner of the room with my arms folded, feeling a burning in my fingers. I can't decide if I'm nervous because Darlene is here, or if I'm nervous anyway. This whole place gives me the creeps.

"Did you figure out where everyone disappeared to?" Elliot asks Darlene.

That weekend after the hack, he went straight to the arcade for some answers - but fsociety had wiped down and gone home the night before, just like Irving told us too. After meeting with Darlene, the two spilt up: Elliot searched for Tyrell and Darlene looked for fsociety. I have no idea what she found.

Darlene clutches her forearms, "I don't know what you want me to say, I've been kicked out of the club. No one will give me an inch. Best I can tell, they're not operating from the arcade anymore and they’re not where I planned for them to go. They’re avoiding me.”

“Where did you plan to go?”

“Remember Susan Jacobs?"

Elliot blinks, "Madame Executioner?"

Darlene nods, "She has a smart house in New York. The plan was the hack her to high hell – not that it makes a difference anymore.” She grips her arms and scowls at the corner of the room.

“Are you pissed?” Elliot says.

“Well, it sure as hell hurts to be kicked out the team just as it was getting good.” she mutters, "This was supposed to be our thing, and now either of us are apart of it. It's wild out there, Elliot, you should see it. There's a curfew, tanks driving up and down streets, and people smashing shit and starting dumpster fires. The world's politicians are completely stumped." Her lip curls with amusement.

"She could be part of it again." I say, "You both could. It's all on you. It's time to put an end to this analogue nightmare and get back into the game. It's better for all of us."

Elliot doesn't say anything for a long time. "That night...when you we're with him...did you - did you  _let_ him do this?"

Darlene glares. "As tempting as it was, no. For your information, I wanted you there before we did anything. Anyway, the guy is a complete fucking psychopath. I offered him water and he flipped out. That's the last time I try to be understanding."

Elliot goes tense. For the first time, he notices Darlene's hands are shaking. "Did he hurt you?"

Darlene purses her lips. "I'm fine."

"Darlene..."

"Just drop it okay?"

"Darlene, if he hurt you..." 

She sighs, "He didn't really hurt me. He just scared me."

I look at her, conflicted. I had to do something to stop her, but I never wanted to...  What the hell. She was going to drug me, our partnership is as good as sunk. I have Tyrell now, anyway. Kinda. I'll figure out a way to get to him.

"Whatever he does," Elliot says, "you know it isn't me. Right?"

"I know. I'm still trying to get used to the idea, but I know." Darlene shifts in her seat and changes the subject, "Anyway, I'm gonna try and track down  _the girl_ and see if I can get her to talk. Don't expect much, but maybe I can find out what happened when you clocked out on 5/9."

Elliot winces, "I can't believe they're calling it that."

Darlene chuckles, "Yeah, it's kinda lame."

"Well I, for one, think it's catchy." I say, and I go ignored.

The alarm starts blaring, and as guards move to escort us out, Darlene stands, "I'm gonna see if I can get hold of 'the girl'. I'll be back soon, I promise."

* * *

_"Leon keeps following me around. For some reason, he's taken a liking to me."_

* * *

At dinner, some kid whose way too chill sits with us and puts a folded up newspaper down on the table. "You should try reading some of this stuff, cuz, it's gone full wild wild west out there - and I don't mean the Will Smith movie. This shit is unreal, bro, just like that episode of..."

Elliot spots an article about fsociety and blocks Leon out to read it. It's another piece about the influx of crime caused by 5/9, and the president and governments inability to deal with it. It makes Elliot frown.

“You’re not actually upset by that, are you?” I say incredulously, “Man, I _so_ don’t know you!” But I can sense the jealousy he feels, the want to get out there and be in on it all. Him and Darlene both want a piece of that glorious anarchy.

 _"What about the people that didn't ask for this? The ones this economical fuck-show is hurting? They didn't get a say in this, they should_... _”_ Elliot stops.

“Go on." I say, "Finish that thought.”

 _“They should have the choice.”_ He thinks, but he doesn’t believe it when he says it.

I slam my fist on the table and Elliot jumps. “People have the choice and they choose to do nothing! They throw their choices to the waste-side like trash! All that freedom they have, and they’d rather stay sedated in a drug whirlpool of celebrity gossip and new iphones and all the other crap that people kid themselves into thinking they need. If people want choices, they can _earn_ them!”

 _Power belongs to those who take it._ Now who was it that said that? …Was it Tyrell?

Elliot twitches. He’s thinking of Tyrell too.

Time to get back on topic before he figures anything out.

I smirk, “For all you decry people having their choices pre-made for them, you’re no better – or need I remind you of what got us here? You exposed Krista’s fraud boyfriend and made her break up with him. You said yourself she needed that decision made for her. You _saved_ her, and _we_ saved the world.”

 _“That's different.”_ Elliot thinks, _“Isn't it? - Fuck!”_ Ignoring Leon's confused expression, Elliot rushes from the dining hall.

I wanna give Elliot the choices he deserves – and the damn kid does deserve them – but if he’s gonna act like this then I’m gonna take charge. It’s my job to take charge when he can't handle things, and like I said, choice is something that should be earned. The people who have the opportunity to make the right choice never do.

Just like Dad.

E-Corp won the court case, and he rolled over and accepted it. When Angela’s mother was the first to go, he gave up soon after. “That’s life, son.” Bullshit! That man was always so soft. I’m better than him – I’m better at _being_ him. If it had been me instead of him, I wouldn’t have let Mom hit us all those times. And, oh man, did she hit us. She hit us so hard we cracked right down the middle.

When we get back to our cell, there's a letter waiting for us. Elliot opens it, and I'm not interested until he pulls out a piece of paper that's blank except for our home address, slap-bang in the middle of the page.

I have a feeling its for me. 

 _Go home and lie low._ That's what that prick Irving said, maybe this is his way of asking me what the fuck I think I’m doing. Not exactly helpful.

If this really is a message from Dark Army, it won't be direct. There's got to be some kind of code on there. Something that will let me communicate with Tyrell. I've gotta get hold of that letter, without Elliot noticing.

Elliot turns it over, confused, and he even holds it up to the light - but its completely blank. The code won't be so simple. Luckily, Elliot has no reason to think it might be a code. To him, its just some dumb mistake.

“Alderson!” calls a guard, making Elliot jump. “Visitor for you.”

Not wanting to see anyone, Elliot sluggishly pulls himself from his cell to the visiting room.

There’s a woman I don’t recognise. Elliot freezes at the sight of her, the hair rising on the back of our neck, and I don’t get it for a second until – _“Who are you?” “I’m Ollie.”_ – and you have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.

Joanna Wellick smiles, “Hello, Ollie.”


	15. C0nt4ct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Violence.

So this is Tyrell’s wife.

Joanna lounges in the visitor chair and draws circles on her pregnant belly with a manicured fingernail. Her face is fully made-up like she's off to the prom, bright red lipstick and thick eyeliner. She looks at us sternly, without blinking, and I'm paranoid that she knows it's not just Elliot sat opposite her. In other words, she's creepy as shit.

And I made-out with her husband. Gotta say, I'm pleased with that.

Elliot doesn't dare take his eyes off her as he sits.

Joanna doesn't say anything. Apparently, we have the floor.

"You gonna say something, kiddo, or are you going to pass me the mic?"

He doesn't like that idea, I can feel it, so he says slowly, "I don't recall adding you to my visitor list."

Joanna smiles. "No cost is too high for the person I love."

"I think she likes you." I whisper in Elliot's ear, ignoring Joanna's piercing eyes. She's talking in code, just like Tyrell. "No cost, huh? What are you betting that she paid her way in here? All it would take is one corrupt officer, not exactly a shocker. The whole damn world is corrupt, see? 5/9 was the right call but our work isn't done yet."

Elliot hates that I'm right. He asks, "What do you want?"

Joanna tilts her head and strokes her belly with her thumb, "What any mother wants - for my son to grow up with his father. Such a terrible thing, isn't it? Growing up without a father."

Elliot feels a rush of compassion despite the strangeness of the situation. "I'm sorry about your husband."

She doesn't look too interested in his apology. Her smile is forced. "It's been a very difficult time for me. Do you mind if we talk? It might help clear my mind."

 _"She knows I had something to do with this. Shit."_ Glancing at the guard, Elliot swallows. "...I don't think I can help you."

Joanna glares, but when she tucks her hair behind her ear, the expression is gone. Finally, she says, "After my husband and I moved to the US, our lives became very contrived. We'd left behind all our family and friends, everything we had ever known, and Tyrell struggled to cope. A structured existence was the only thing that could help him."

That's bullshit. I remember how Tyrell was back on that roof - _"She told me I’m a failure." –_ _"She couldn’t believe that I gave up everything we worked for on _impulse._ ”  _I realise I should be thanking this woman for giving me an exploit, but instead I'm furious that she made Tyrell feel that way.

"We planned everything together," she continues, "and if I'm being completely honest, I hated every minute of it. But I continued on for him because that's what you do for your partner. I kept my wishes to myself, even though I wanted something to change." she smiles, "So when Tyrell made a new friend, I was elated."

_Oh shit._

Elliot sits up.

"I thought that, maybe, this would allow us to live a little less rigidly. Lessen the burden." her smile vanishes and she looks at us accusingly, "But then he started to need this person, this person began to occupy his every waking thought, and this disrupted our lives." She fixes us with a searching stare.

Elliot is at a loss. “...You think he might have eloped?”  _"What is she really trying to say?"_

Joanna blinks, as if she hadn't thought of that. “He can get very fixated, but he wouldn't do that. There is too much keeping him here.” She looks at her belly. “I think he sensed an opportunity. He takes even the most unorthodox actions to reach his goals."

 _"Letting 5/9 happen? Unorthodox doesn't begin to cover it."_  

"My man informed me you have my husband's number." Joanna says.

The implication isn't hard to miss, even with Elliot's lack of social grace.

“That’s right.” he says cautiously, “But I haven’t used it.” _“Or have I?_ _Have Mr Robot and Tyrell been talking? For how long?"_

Joanna looks utterly unimpressed.

Squirming under her gaze, Elliot looks at the alarm light on the wall. Visits are timed, the minute that alarm goes off, it's over. We shouldn't have that long left.

Joanna must realise it too, because suddenly she says, "I want you to find my husband."

Elliot stares at her.

"I know you were working together, and I know you know more than you are saying." she glares, "I will not let you or anyone else take him from me. Do you understand?"

 _"What the fuck is happening?"_ "I-I can't exactly do anything from in here."

"I'm sure you can find a way around that. Maybe your blonde friend can help."

Elliot's eyes widen.

The alarm goes off. The light flashes red.

Joanna stands.

The gate behind us opens, and a guard stands next to us.

"Wait." Elliot stands too fast, and the guard grabs him by the arm.

"Settle down."

He doesn't listen. He calls to Joanna. "I'll help you find him, I just need time!"

But Joanna is walking away and neither of us have any idea whether she heard or what she's planning.

* * *

" _We're calling this op 'Red Wheelbarrow.' It was Mr Alderson's request."_

* * *

Elliot practically  _runs_ to the phone and shakily punches in Angela's number.

Angela answers immediately. "Elliot? Oh my god. Are you... How are you?"

Just the sound of her voice sends a ripple of affection through him strong enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut. It makes me squirm, getting the aftershock of feelings toward someone I don't want much to do with, and I decide to slip back a little, just enough to listen. Elliot looks around for me and sighs with relief when he can't see me - not like it isn't  _him_ projecting me or anything.

"Elliot? That is you, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Sorry I -" He stops. He writes huge chunks about her in his journal, you know. About how he doesn't want to burden her with his problems. With me.

"It's so good to hear from you."

"Are you okay?"

"No! I've been worried sick about you!"

Elliot smiles - but stops when he remembers why he made the call. "Angela. Has anyone been asking about me?"

"Oh Elliot." Angela says softly. "Of course they are. I thought Gideon would never talk to me again but he's really worried about you, and Lloyd is actually being _sensitive_ for once -"

"No, I meant -" he cuts himself off with a wince.

"...Elliot?" she prompts.

He swallows.

Angela talks in a rush. "I could visit you. I mean, I will. I'll find the time to -"

"Angela..." he pleads. _"I don't want you to see me like this."_

"I know I've been busy with my new job and I know you must have serious reservations about it, but I'm not about to forget you. It's no trouble. I want to see you and-"

"I don't want you here." 

Silence.

When he realises what that sounds like, his stomach knots. "Angela, I -"

"If you don't want to see me, that's fine. But please don't cut me out again. Not after what happened." Her desperation is obvious.

Elliot squeezes his eyes shut. "I wish I could tell you what you wanna hear."

"You don't have to." she says, "Just tell me what you need me to hear."

 _"If I tell her the whole truth, how much danger will she be in? What if Joanna is just playing mind games?"_ Elliot swallows. "Be careful."

"That means a lot." her smile is audible. "You be careful too. Promise?"

"Yeah." He hangs up and presses his forehead against the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut -

\- and I open them again, like slipping in a suit. I crack my neck. Itch my nose. Sniff. Settling myself in.

I head back to the cell and find that mystery letter. Elliot threw it in the trash and kept the envelope as a bookmark for that stupid journal of his. I pick it out of the bin, lay it flat, repeat all the steps Elliot did, knowing that I'll see something he didn't. I hold it up to the light. Nothing. I run my hand over it - maybe there's raised letters or imprints or something. Nothing. Nothing except our apartment address.

I look at Elliot's journal, sitting on the table, the envelope sticking out of it. Maybe it's not the letter itself. I sweep over to the journal, but what I see on the cover makes me pause.

In the space you're supposed to write your name, Elliot has written  _RED WHEELBARROW._

"What the fuck..." I mutter. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Things bleed between us, a constant reminder that even though we’re fractured, we’re still connected.

It doesn’t help that stories about Tyrell are all over the news. I peek over Elliot’s shoulder whenever he looks. Most of it’s bullshit, let’s be honest. Still, Tyrell’s got some foxy pictures. Those journalists really know how to show off his good side. Not to mention, the stories are freaking hilarious.

But reading the news is one thing, this is another. If I'm lucky, Elliot is only getting snippets. He hasn't figured out that we can exchange memories, and I'd rather not lose that advantage. I just gotta pretend this is nothing. If I don't draw attention to it, he has no reason to pry.

I flip open Elliot's journal and inspect the envelope. It takes me a while to find it, and I don't think I would have if I wasn't obsessively pouring myself over it, but there is a message from Dark Army.

_Your current situation cannot affect stage 2._

"Holy shit." I breathe. The only thing that stops me from crumpling the envelope to my chest like a life line is that I haven't decoded the whole thing. I can't stop grinning.

I decode the rest in seconds.

_To communicate, use dead drop in library encyclopaedia vol 2._

The library encyclopaedia. Really? Now I know for a fact that this wasn't direct from Tyrell. He'd choose something with a little more flair. More importantly, dead drop means there’s a DA op inside this dump. One of the guards? Or maybe that Leon whose so adamant on sticking with us? Whoever it is, it’s a comfort. Helps me breathe a little easier, knowing I’m not alone in this tin can.

Unfortunately, Elliot doesn't let this black out session go unquestioned. As soon as he's back online, the tirade starts.

"What have you done?"

With a huff, I go over to the window and look outside. I can see over the prison wall and the streets below - what a lot of guys in here would consider a great view. A great view isn't so great with bars. "You can't keep me cooped up in here like a caged animal. I need to stretch my legs every once in a while."

 _"Bullshit."_ he thinks. _"He took over right after my conversation with Angela. T_ _he timing is too coincidental."_

"You're worried about Angela and with good reason. That Joanna has a couple of screws loose." I turn from the window, "We get out of here and you, oh gallant hero, can go save her. The only way out of this mess is if we work together."  _The only way that feels right._

_"He's lying. He doesn't want to work together. If he did, he'd tell me what happened that night."_

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. The kid is a broken record! "You think me telling you is going to change anything? That it will save Angela from whatever the hell Joanna is planning? Newsflash, it won't!"

Sure as hell won't do me any good. If I tell him I have no idea where Tyrell is, it will only give him another reason to delegitimize me. He's determined to prove to himself and everyone else that he doesn't need me.

"What will help is getting the hell out of here. Trust me, you don't -"

"Trust you?" Elliot hisses, "You manipulated me into going to the arcade, you stole months of my life, you hurt Darlene -"

"-steal your life?" I shake my head in disbelief, "Like when you were practically comatose after Shayla? If it weren't for me you would have slit your wrists. I am the only thing keeping you alive, without me you'd be a drooling mess."

"No." he says, eyes wide. He can tell...he can feel how scared I am... He's _enjoying_ this. "I don't need you. And I am going to get rid of you."

That afternoon we played games in the arcades flashes into my head. I had such an unrivalled devotion to him. I wanted so badly for him to know me, for us to be together as _us._  Right now? I hate him. I hate him so much it hurts.

Then a lot things happen at once:

I see our cell, its small space and its grey walls, and I see the spare room Elliot sees, Mom's house, like an image laid on top. I see myself how Elliot sees me, looking back at me. At us. And I see nothing. Because no one is stood there.

01001001

\- Elliot clenches his fist - no. It's me who does that, my anger sharp. And in my fist, there's a knife. There's nothing. And there's a knife. Whether Elliot or I put it there, I don't know. Those times he sees me, he's picturing me there - 

01101000 01100001 01110100 01100101

\- and I'm so fucking angry. To trap me here, it's a sick torture. It feels like I'm back in the server room at Elliot's old work, only there's nothing to destroy except -

01101000 01101001 01101101

I slam the knife into Elliot's stomach. The pain and shock ricochets right back into me and I black out.

When I come to, I'm curled up by the bed. There's blood everywhere. Thick and sticky between my fingers. Chugging out of my stomach. Red fingerprints on Elliot's journal. I blink and all the blood is gone. Except my face is still sticky, and the feeling is too familiar.

It's how it feels after Elliot cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100+ kudos????!!!  
> I honestly didn't think that would happen on a Robot-centred fic, but here we are! Thank you so much!


	16. Re4lisati0n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Panic attack, violence

“Where have you been? It’s been weeks.”

“It’s nice to see you too.” Darlene folds her arms on the table and shoots a suspicious glance at the guard, “Though you’re not exactly a good sight. You look awful.”

Elliot shifts uncomfortably as I carve the skin off an imaginary apple with an imaginary shank. I've gotten good at these illusions.

Darlene sighs, “I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Our guys are MIA. I've spent these past few weeks trying to track them down, but I've got nothing. It’s clearly the work of the DA.”

“They’re cleaning up the mess.” Elliot says. _"Does this mean Trenton, Mobley and Romero are dead?"_

I stab the apple and scowl. I don't trust Irving, but he said those three had nothing to worry about. Right? Wouldn't they consult me before taking anyone out? The Dark Army didn't say anything about Trenton, Mobley and Romero in the messages they sent me. If something went wrong, they'd say.

Darlene leans over the table. “You know it’s only a matter of time before they come after us.”

Elliot is surprised at the monotone in her voice. "Are you okay? I mean, they might be..."

Darlene’s fingers clench. “They’re probably fine. Let’s not talk about it. We need a plan.”

"Have you talked to Angela?"

"Seen her around. The feds are crawling all over E-Corp. I wasn't exactly planning to pop in. Why?"

"No reason."

Darlene doesn't say anything for a moment, and when she does, she drops her voice to a low whisper, "Look, about that night... I didn't mean to give you the impression you can't trust me. I should have believed you. I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't have believed me either."

"If I had, none of this would have happened." she sighs, "I just need us to be on the same page again. I'm freaking out. I feel like I'm being stalked everywhere I go, and I have no idea whether it's DA or the feds."

"What about your DA contact?"

"I've been avoiding him. I move around, never stop in the same place twice."

Elliot frowns. "You're homeless."

"That isn't exactly news. Did you forget?"

"You didn't forget, did you?" I mutter, cutting deeper into the imaginary apple, "You just didn't think, too wrapped up in your own bullshit, completely ignoring that your own flesh and blood is on the run, on her own, while you play house."

Darlene says, sharply, "Elliot! Focus! I need something here. There's only so many times I can circle New York before I get caught."

"I have something."

I freeze. Is he lying? No. He's  _hidden_ his thoughts from me. The kid is learning my ticks.

"It's dangerous, but its all we have."

Darlene nods. "Anything is better than sitting with our hands tied."

"Joanna Wellick."

Darlene frowns.

I gawp.

The guard at the cell door turns and walks away.

_The fuck?_

"She visited me a while back, and I figured she has some of the guards on her payroll." he glances meaningfully at where the guard was stood. All this time, I've been exchanging messages with the DA in secret, and Elliot has been doing his own work. "She can't keep visiting me here or the feds will get suspicious."

"What does she want?"

"She wants to find Tyrell."

Darlene narrows her eyes, "Well, nice for her and all, but how does this help _our_ situation?"

“She has a bodyguard. Tell her you’re my contact. As long as you’re working with her she’ll protect you.”

“Says _who?"_  I demand.

“Have you lost your mind?” Darlene says, and hell yes for being on the same page again, "If _he_ did have something to do with Tyrell's disappearance then..."

"I know, but it's all I have to go on. I just...need you to be safe. Angela too."

Darlene concedes, “And you think Wellick's bodyguard can protect us from the DA or the feds?”

I cannot believe what I'm hearing, “You _cannot_ work with that crazy braud! She’s certifiable!”

He looks at me, with that same look I’ve gotten so sick of these past weeks. He’s going to ask me where Tyrell is, only this time, he’s got me trapped. To stop him working with Joanna, I have to tell him.

But I don’t have an answer to give. That hasn’t changed. The messages between Dark Army and me are limited, and there’s days between each one. I know no more than I did before I got their first message.

Elliot has the gall to look smug. The strength of this kid astounds me sometimes. I’ve spend the last few weeks sticking knifes and bullets in his head, and he’s still not giving up. He turns to Darlene. “This is how we get out of this. I just need time to figure out what happened to Tyrell.”

“What if you figure it out and she doesn’t like your answer?” she says, “Men don’t just disappear, and if he was involved and the DA really are cleaning up...”

“I’ll figure that out when it happens. We need to do what we have to, to survive.”

* * *

  _"I dodged a shoot-out in China!"_

* * *

I wake up after a dream, the kind that is instantly forgotten. All I know is that Tyrell was in it. 

It’s night – and that means the cell door is locked. The light in the corridor casts the shadow of the bars across the floor and I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve been doing my best not to freak out, mostly by avoiding nights. It's too quiet at night. No distractions and too much time to think.

I should probably be worried that Tyrell cropped up in our dream. Can’t decide whether that’s Elliot’s fault or mine. We’re both thinking about him too much. I try not to, because I don’t want Elliot to figure out the memory-transfer trick, but I can’t help it. I hate myself for it, but I just have this overwhelming need to see him.

And I can’t.

Suddenly, all the panic I’ve been holding back for weeks bubbles up and chokes me. I can’t breathe. The damn walls are way too close. No window. No air. No escape.

I stumble out of bed to the cell door, gripping the bars – which doesn’t help because, oh yeah, _bars._ I’m in a literal prison right now. The whole damn world and Tyrell is on the outside, and I can’t _reach_ him.

I can’t think of anything else. I try to, but the blossoming warmth in my chest pushes me to hold onto the thought of him. I would give anything to be where he is now. I would give anything to have him here with me, at least then I wouldn’t be so damn alone.

I swallow and press my forehead against the bar, the metal like ice on my skin. Down the corridor, an inmate screams.  _Gee, that's real helpful._

“Keep it down, man!” shouts a voice, “People are trying to sleep.”

The warden. That’s the last thing I need, someone seeing me weak like this, least of all one of the guys running this joint. Come on.  _Pull yourself together._ Heh. I've been trying to do that for months.

Shit. I can't feel my hands.

Something stops outside my cell and blocks out the light from the corridor. I lower my head to hide my face. _Don't look at me. Don't look at me._

“Hey, Elliot.” Ray looks concerned, “You alright?”

“Oh, yeah.” My tongue feels heavy, “Just peachy.”

Ray's dog snuffles my jumpsuit leg and looks up at me. It looks nothing like Flipper, four times the size for a start, but I can't help but think of her. I reach down and rub the dog's head with my knuckles, and then I think, fuck it, and bury my fingers into its fur.

"You're lucky." Ray says, "Maxine doesn't usually like anyone. I'm not even sure she likes me." 

He's stood next to me, and his voice is right there but I can barely focus on it. My hand starts to prickle.

"You should get to sleep, Elliot. It's better for you to stick to daylight hours."

I hear a soft, pitiful whine as he pulls the dog away.

Ray stops.

Shit. That whine was me.

"...oh." says Ray.

I wince and pull my hand back inside my cell. Can this get anymore humiliating?

Ray walks away, but he's soon back with a chair and makes himself comfy outside my cell. "Mind if I sit here for a bit?"

“I’m fine." I mutter, "Just walk away.”

He doesn't. "Maybe you are fine, but you seem like good company." 

I scoff.

Ray loosens his grip on the lead, allowing the dog to walk in front of my cell and flop down on the floor. "She's getting older now, my Maxine. I'll be sad to see her go, I've had her since she was a pup. Even then, she liked to pull me around. She doesn't like anyone trying to control her."

I glance down at the dog, who stares back at me.

Ray sits there for what feels like an eternity. The talking gives me something to focus on, helps to clear my thoughts a little, but I have no idea what he says half the time, like I'm switching in and out with Elliot.

After a while, my breathing slows down. My hands still prickle, but my tongue doesn't feel as heavy.

Ray stops talking, and I glance up. After a pause, he says, "How about you?"

"What about me?"

"You said you lost your dog, but you gotta have someone."

I roll my eyes. "I don't do heart-to-hearts."

"No?" he chuckles, "I've been bearing my soul over here."

"Too bad."

His mouth drops open, "Damn. Another brutal hit. I need to stay away from you."

I huff and, finally, pry my hands off the bars. The prickling feeling has gone and I feel stable again. I step back into the cell, avoiding the light. I want to forget this embarrassing episode happened, but Ray gave me something which of course means...

"I have someone." I say, "We met at, uh, a boxing contest. We didn't exactly hit it off." Ray looks interested, and maybe I'm attention-starved, because I add,  "We ran into each other later. Turns out he's something of a work colleague. Talk about awkward."

Ray chuckles.

"He offered me a ride home, later we went for food and to a bar..." I'm grinning too much, so I clear my throat and turn my head away because I can't get myself to stop. "Yeah. That was that."

"No way. What really made you change your mind about him?"

I ain't answering the question, but I can't help thinking about it. All those little things about Tyrell: His needless obsession with his looks and reputation, even though secretly he's a fun loving, socially awkward idiot. That everything he does surprises me. That all his insecurities are my own. That he tries too damn hard to impress me when I don't care about any of that, I just care about him and -

Holy shit. I'm infatuated with Wellick.

"Elliot?"

I blink. "What?"

"You okay?"

I swallow, "Yeah, I'm fine."

How did I not notice this sooner? Tyrell has been my focal point since...since that  _kiss._ My purpose has shifted from Elliot to Tyrell. I'm evolving. It wouldn't be the first time either. All this time I've been screaming at Elliot for his denial when I've been blind to the obvious.

Ray stands. "I see I've caused some existential crisis, but you're not panicking anymore so I'd say my job here is done."

Not panicking?

Huh. I'm not. I'm actually calm about this.

How about that.

"I'll let you ruminate on whatever it is you're ruminating on." He tugs Maxine away from the cell door and moves the chair to the wall. It's as he's walking away that I remember that Ray is the only guy in this tin cage with a computer. If I want to see Tyrell again, if I want any information at all, I need that computer.

"Hey!"

Ray is about to turn the corner but, thankfully, he stops.

“At the game today, you said you had problems with your website, right? Some kind of online business?”

He watches with a guarded expression.

"Come on." I say, "I know that's the only reason you bothered learning my name. Because you know I can help, and it's true." I force myself to shift back from the bars, not wanting to look any more desperate than I do already, “I’m a master at what I do. Any problem is no problem.”

Ray smiles, "I appreciate it.”

* * *

_“Ray is protective, kind. Ray is dangerous, a criminal.”_

* * *

Ray is a fucked-up piece of shit.

It took forever to get Elliot to fix Ray's site, but turns out Ray wasn't selling freaking fruit loops – unless kidnapped girls and assassins for hire count. When Elliot found out, oh boy, it was Flipper and Lenny Shannon all over again.

"I told you not to look." Ray says.

"Help!" Elliot screams, as guards pin us to the wall.

It was his fear that woke me, and these idiots don't know that pain is another one of our triggers. I switch with Elliot and, this time, using all the practise from creating imaginary knives and guns, I imagine him doing something else. I don't know. Whatever will stop him from feeling this. Our subconscious will do the work.

They go for the stomach first. Two men have hold of me and I can’t move as the other lands each hit. Being punched doesn’t hurt as much as a cigarette burn or a manicured nail trying to draw blood. I can handle this just fine.

Six or seven punches later, I start laughing and I can’t stop. 

The guy punching me gets annoyed. "You think this is funny? You disrespecting our boss?"

Suddenly I'm on the floor. I taste blood. I wonder if it's staining my teeth red. I run my tongue along them to check and  _ugh_ that's a mistake. It's disgusting. I spit it onto the floor, a big red blob. I chuckle, “Looks like that cancer is acting up again.”

“You have cancer?” Ray says.

“Nope." My arms are shake as I push myself up from the ground. I get about an inch before a boot sends me careening onto my side. A foot lands in my face, and then another in my stomach.

There's a ringing in my ears that sounds like an 80's song. I try to hum along.  _Imagine a world..._

The hits stop and Ray crouches next to me. He's all swirly.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again. For a second, I see Elliot's projection, placing us on some innocent little street corner. Or am I driving a car? Fuck, my head hurts. Too many realities bleeding together. I blink and I'm back in the corridor. My blood is luminous against the white tiled floor.

"You ready to apologise and do what you need to?" Ray says, "I can make this stop right now."

The ringing in my ears is too distracting.  _Used to be you could...vilify the villain..._ Oh yeah. Remember when Tyrell was the bad guy? Now I'm  _crushing_ on him.

I laugh.

Ray stands. "Hit him again." 

I'm yanked to my feet, shoved against the wall again, and it’s hit, after hit, after hit. "One for Alderson!" I cheer as a fist rams into my jaw.

I have no idea what I'm saying anymore. It feels right to just let words tumble out my mouth.

The hits keep coming. When one of them gets tired, they swap so the beating can continue. Everything hurts. This isn't imaginary, self-inflicted pain, this is so real I can't move.

"Too bad your friend didn't teach you boxing." Ray says.

"Nu-uh. Tyrell is nothing but... _baggage_." I giggle, “Get it? Baggage! Because he’s in the trunk!”

“I think we’ve knocked a couple of brain cells out, boss.”

"He talking Tyrell, as in Tyrell Wellick?"

"He's crazy. Has to be!"

They don't know the half of it. When I laugh this time, it’s raspy, like there's a puncture in my lungs.

The noise must freak Ray out because he says, “That's enough."

They grab me by my arms and legs and lift me off the floor. A hand clasps over my mouth to stop me crying out. I'm so dizzy and in pain I don't notice us going anywhere until the back of a bed hits me. The doctor fixes me up, but Ray takes away my painkiller.

Finally, I slip away, back into the void and for the first time I don’t regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're near the end of the season 2 portion of this fic. I have a general idea for what happens next, but if anyone has anything they'd like to see (their second kiss is coming, I promise) then I'll be happy to incorporate it. 
> 
> Until then, thanks for your patience and your lovely comments. x


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